Chapter Twelve

The deep darkness made it impossible for Lamorak to gauge just how far he fell before coming to a stop, but luckily the surface upon which he landed was soft enough to cushion his landing; other than getting the wind knocked out of him, he was certain he hadn't sustained any injuries. His grip slackened on the Sixth Imaskarcana but he retained the presence of mind to tuck it closely against his chest to ensure he didn't lose it on impact, relieved beyond measure to find it still in his possession when he came to rest, and he lay motionless for a moment with his ears pricked for even the barest hint of a sound. Thankfully all was quiet around him save for the loose chunks of stone flaking away from the collapsed floor hundreds of feet above – eerily so, in fact.

"Brennus…" the Third Prince began in a careful undertone, but his brother's voice overrode him, a swift warning knifing through his thoughts.

"Keep quiet, and stay on your guard," the loremaster hissed. "You are in grave danger, Lamorak. You need to get up right away, and whatever you do, keep hold of the book!"

There was a voice calling Lamorak's name from somewhere far above, but the Determinist Prime heeded his youngest brother's wisdom and bit his tongue; now that the shock of falling had subsided he could sense more than feel a malevolent presence sharing the black room with him, and could think of little else save putting as much distance between himself and it as quickly as possible. With one arm still coiled protectively around the Sixth Imaskarcana he pushed himself into a sitting position and cast his gaze all around in an effort to better identify his new surroundings, but the light filtering down through the hole above seemed somehow unable to penetrate the darkness of the chamber he had collapsed in.

"Get up, Lamorak!" Brennus howled, abandoning all pretense of stealth in favor of getting his point across. "NOW!"

Lamorak scrabbled unsteadily, urged into motion by the blatant fear in his youngest brother's voice, but the surface he had landed on was mostly smooth and his boots had difficulty gaining any traction; he managed to stumble two doubled-over steps – though whether he was headed in a favorable direction or not, he had no way of knowing – and then something slithered unpleasantly over his left foot and coiled around his ankle.

"Light, Brennus!" the Third Prince shrieked in a sudden panic, the spongey surface beneath his dominant hand and the intimate way the unseen tendril curled up his leg leaving him senseless with revulsion, and the instant the cover of the Sixth Imaskarcana blazed with magical white illumination Lamorak wished he'd never asked for it.

The thing snaking swiftly up his leg appeared to be a long, thick tentacle that was damp with some manner of foul-smelling fluid; a hiss of utter disgust passed from between Lamorak's teeth and he backpedaled with greater speed, groping hastily at his belt for the black glass dagger that was his only physical weapon. Instinctively he hacked at the wriggling black length without remorse, surprised when after first one stroke then two it continued to cling to him stubbornly, but fortunately his third slash severed the hideous appendage and both halves fell lifelessly at his feet. Some manner of anguished roar ripped through his mind then and purely on reflex Lamorak clapped both hands over his ears; after a moment's contemplation he realized that the cry had echoed entirely in his mind and not audibly, and he managed to catch the Imaskarcana for it was slipping out from the crook of his elbow and Brennus had warned him that he must not drop it at any cost. Glancing down to ensure the severed tentacle wasn't readying itself for another attack the Third Prince took notice of the surface on which he had landed for the first time – it was a truly revolting mass of grayish-pink matter the consistency of a sponge with a host of black tentacles just like the one he had slashed in half writhing in his general direction like so many angry serpents, and even as he took yet another step back he slipped on the damp, porous surface again and nearly fell. It was quite large, the size of one of the flourishing blackwood maples in Thultanthar that Lamorak had always been so fond of, and numbly it occurred to him just what he was seeing but it simply couldn't be real –

"What in the Nine Hells - ?!" Lamorak bellowed in a sheer panic, but the rest of his outburst stuck in the back of his throat and Brennus had the answer.

"An elder brain," the loremaster moaned, his tone making it quite clear how he lamented the dire situation they had fallen into. "An illithid elder brain, by my estimate."

Lamorak wanted desperately to ask where it had come from or how it had come to be located in the depths of an Imaskari ruin but there simply wasn't time; half a dozen tentacles were now slithering over the sickly pale gray surface of the elder brain in his general direction, and given the difficulty he'd had dispatching one he didn't care much for his odds against six more. At last getting his feet planted firmly beneath him the Determinist Prime turned to flee –

That was when a wave of psychic energy rolled over him, invisible yet deadly as poisonous fumes; his limbs seized up as though he'd been struck with total-body paralysis and he careened forward, unable to control his own body as every one of his muscles spontaneously went limp. As he landed face-down upon the disgusting surface of the massive brain Lamorak's only thought was for the safety of the book, which fortunately lay trapped beneath his now immobilized body. Could he protect it from the groping black lengths that even now were sliding unpleasantly over his ankles in an attempt to subdue him? Was there a chance that he could keep the Imaskarcana from being pried from his hands long enough for his enigmatic druid companion to come to his aid?

"Lamorak," came the voice of Brennus from somewhere beneath him, muffled as it was by the Third Prince's weight, "Stay calm - try to keep your wits about you."

What? Lamorak thought, the single word upon his thoughts saturated with dread, and he hoped his youngest brother could hear the inquiry ringing through his mind for his lips were incapable of forming any words. Beneath him he could feel the Sixth Imaskarcana growing warm, a sure sign that Brennus was manipulating the spells within its pages and preparing to cast, and for a moment Lamorak felt relief wash over him… until he perceived that the book was growing hotter, and hotter, until he felt certain it would reduce his tattered robes to ash and scorch a hole right through his flesh –

The ancient tome trapped beneath Lamorak's body burst into flames.

Lamorak's tongue resembled a lead weight in his mouth, such that he couldn't even scream aloud; unfortunately his eyes remained open and he was physically incapable of averting them from the highly disturbing sight of the flames leaping up his clothing hungrily. His garments provided no defense against the fire and he could only lay there helplessly as he burned, certain that through Brennus's actions they were both doomed to die in this deserted, forsaken ruin –

One of the tendrils – extensions of the elder brain, Lamorak was certain – twined around his ankle and tugged him several inches back the way he had come, but presently there echoed a sickly shriek and the appendage recoiled and released him. Three others yet remained within Lamorak's line of sight and though they writhed hungrily mere inches from his body they didn't dare approach while the flames still danced along every inch of his skin. The Determinist Prime could feel his strength waning and wondered darkly if his youngest brother had meant to kill him all along, had just been waiting for the prime opportunity to do so without arousing any suspicion.

"You faithless fool," the loremaster chastised him scathingly. "Is this the thanks I get for endeavoring to save you – unmitigated accusations of treachery? Do not let the brain twist your allegiance – it seeks to divide us! You know I would never endanger your life so recklessly! See the fire for what it truly is – an illusion, and nothing more!" Lamorak's mind whirled confusedly at this revelation, for though this served as a perfectly logical explanation he still perceived a pain so acute that he was certain his death was but instants away; his thoughts insinuated as much to his youngest brother, who couldn't help but scoff as he roared, "Have you forgotten that an illusion can be just as deadly to those weak of mind and spirit, brother?! You of all people should know that the strength of any illusion is dependent upon the belief of all who lay eyes on it! Do not falter now, not when we are so close to our ultimate goal!"

With every ounce of willpower that remained in him, Lamorak focused his eyes upon the flames that wreathed his body. Though it was still highly disconcerting to witness his own flesh burning, it seemed to his eyes that perhaps the flames lacked some of their previous ferocity – or had they always been lacking in intensity, and he was only now seeing the truth of the situation thanks to his brother's explanation? And it seemed the more he doubted the more inconsistencies his mind pointed out to him – the fire was not hot enough to kill him, no, it wasn't even enough to mar his flesh, and the moment that realization dawned the burning sensation altogether vanished. He resisted the urge to cry out victoriously lest the elder brain become wise to Brennus's clever scheme, but he did tense his hands and feet beneath him infinitesimally as he prepared to spring into motion.

"Well done!" Brennus crowed, and a wash of pride and gratitude struck Lamorak as surely as the flames had as the loremaster's sudden surge of emotion radiated from the Imaskarcana's cover. "On my count now, brother – one… two…"

Lamorak was on his feet before the count was completed, scooping up the book and hugging it to his chest so tightly his ribs ached, and his torn robes billowed out behind him in tatters as he ran; he managed seven paces before the elder brain howled yet again in rage and the snaking black tendrils took up their pursuit anew, but by then Lamorak had covered enough ground to leap off the surface of the brain and into the darkness below. Anticipating yet another excruciating fall Lamorak was quite surprised when his feet touched ground barely a moment later and he hardly stumbled before regaining his balance, and glancing back over one shoulder he took in the full scope of his predicament at last.

The elder brain was bobbing almost comically, suspended as it was within a pool of semi-translucent fluid the contents of which Lamorak could only speculate; as he watched it began to glow with a pearly opalescence that instilled within Lamorak an unsettling sensation of vertigo, and the sickly black tentacles protruding from the brain's stem writhed in response to some unspoken command and moved as one in the Third Prince's direction. For the first time in months Lamorak chose not to rely upon the magic within the Imaskarcana and instead reached within himself to seek the power to eradicate this new threat, and as the fingers of his right hand elongated into serrated ebony shadow claws he felt a dark surging of satisfaction course through his veins. "I may be a stranger in a hostile land," he growled aloud, certain that though it lacked ears his adversary could hear him, "and it may be that the odds have been hopelessly stacked against me from the start. I have suffered shameful defeat in the recent past, and I have unwillingly learned what humility is at every turn. I have fallen from my castle; I have been burned and scarred and had my body broken in ways that will haunt my nightmares for decades to come. I have suffered horrible fates that would have killed a weaker man, foul beast, yet here I stand. These trials have not defeated me, and neither will you – you are just another obstacle in my path, and you will not dissuade me from my course. I will not fall here. My kingdom may have forgotten and forsaken me, but I am still a Prince of Shade!"

Yet another swell of pride pulsed from the cover of the Imaskarcana, a sure sign that one person yet remained who had not forsaken him, and with wicked shadow claws raised Lamorak charged at his nemesis with a cry of impending triumph upon his lips.

Far above, still crouched at the rotted hole through which Lamorak had fallen, the grizzled druid heard the faint sounds of battle knew that time was of the essence. This escalating feud between Thultanthar and Deep Imaskar meant nothing to him, truth be told, but he had his reasons for staying involved. At first he'd simply cast his lot in with The Third Prince of Shade because his goddess Mielikki had commanded it - he had never turned his back on his deity before, and had no intention of starting now. The prince's promise to grant him anything he desired hadn't swayed his decision in the slightest – he'd made up his mind to accompany him before they had even struck that bargain – but there was no denying that such a reward had sweetened the pot. But now he followed Lamorak because he believed in the valor of his cause and sensed goodness growing in the shade's heart. As he rose from his kneeling position and brandished his chipped spear he found that he wanted Lamorak to succeed in his endeavor, and he was prepared to fight to the last to secure such an outcome.

It was there, poised to leap into the unknown and blindly follow his unlikely comrade into yet another adventure, that he distinctly felt an entirely new presence enter the ruins of Raudor somewhere above him.

Briefly he considered jumping anyway, and damn the consequences. What Lamorak faced now was purely and simply evil – even from a distance the gruff druid could sense as much, and it was likely that even armed as he was with his ancient spellbook the Third Prince had a hard battle ahead of him. But the new presence he felt lurking in the entrance hall, while not inherently dark, seemed calculated and resolute as it scoured the halls for any signs of life – looking for the pair of them, the druid realized with a sudden jolt of nervousness – and that seemed far more dangerous somehow. He didn't think their two foes would work together to bring them down but he wasn't willing to take that risk, so instead of moving to join Lamorak he worked to relax his posture and waited. Doubtless the newcomer was the source of Lamorak's concern, the other party searching for the Fourth Imaskarcana, and the druid knew that in order for Lamorak to succeed this new threat must be delayed at all costs.

So he would delay it.

There followed a scuffing sound on the stairs as the newcomer descended toward him – with one hand curled reassuringly around the shaft of his spear and the other deep in a pocket of his breeches, the druid trained his eyes upon the silhouette of the staircase, his muscles tensing for action. Presently, a voice wafted down to meet him.

"I have no quarrel with you," it said – the voice was unquestioningly male and oddly gentle, but not lacking in authority. "I urge you to stand down and allow me to pass."

When the druid answered it was in a tone similarly devoid of challenge but no less stalwart. "I do not think it right to follow the commands of a man who has yet to introduce himself, much less show his face."

A faint chuckle reached his ears and the druid bristled, for the sound was unmistakably condescending despite its veneer of kindness. "I suppose you have a point – where are my manners?"

The sound of shuffling feet upon dusty stone intensified and a figure came into view, clad in pristine robes with fine, sleek dark hair and keen jade eyes set within a slate-gray face; the expression he wore was one of distant surprise at finding another soul dwelling within the ruins yet blazing purpose, and the nobility of his very presence made the druid feel quite small. The man finished his descent unthreateningly and even offered the ghost of a smile, but far from alleviating the swiftly-mounting tension permeating the musty chamber this gesture only served to further grate upon the druid's fraying nerves. With a start Mielikki's disciple noticed a spellbook nestled in the crook of the other man's elbow whose magical insinuations strongly reminded him of the Imaskarcana Third Prince Lamorak carried, and his grip upon the spear he held tightened imperceptibly as realization dawned.

"My name is Voltain Darkydle," claimed the slender man carrying the ponderous tome, and his greeting may have been genial were it not for the predatory glint in his eye. "May I ask how you found yourself in this place? The wards cast upon the entrance remain intact – and even if they did not, the great gates of Raudor are submerged beneath dozens of feet of sand."

The smug superiority dripping from the wizard's every word made it plain he was certain the druid couldn't have possibly entered the ruins without help; the cool self-assurance reminded him so strongly of Aveil Arthien that for a moment the druid was utterly overwhelmed with nostalgia, and the hint of a smirk curled one side of his mouth. "Yes, I have heard of you," he offered, choosing to overlook the other man's inquiry, and Voltain quirked a curious eyebrow.

"Oh?" Voltain's free hand settled upon his chin, and he stroked it thoughtfully as he eyed the cloaked figure across from him as though mildly flattered by the recognition. "I wasn't aware that my reputation so preceded me."

"It doesn't," the druid corrected brusquely, inwardly pleased when his words seemed to deflate the wizard's swelling ego a bit. "I have heard mention of you from my traveling companion, Third Prince Lamorak of Shade."

It was astounding how the mere mention of Lamorak's name so quickly soured Voltain's disposition; in an instant his façade of cordiality vanished, to be replaced by an expression of utmost loathing. "So he truly is alive," Voltain pondered with a theatrical sigh. "And he has somehow coerced you into joining his cause? A pity… I sense tremendous strength in you, yet you waste it fighting for a man who is destined only to fail."

"I cannot say that I agree with you." The hand that was buried in his breeches pocket closed around a handful of plump seeds, and the druid channeled a bit of his magical energy to trigger their growth. Given the wizard's lack of reaction, he felt confident that this action had slipped by unnoticed. "Look around – do you see him here? He remains one step ahead of you – he will reach the Fourth Imaskarcana before you do."

The hand that had been stroking Voltain's chin fell to his side at this declaration and clenched into a fist. "So he has told you of the Imaskarcana as well… I regret to tell you that he has done you no favors, for possession of that knowledge has only sealed your fate. You cannot be allowed to live, I'm afraid – in the wrong hands those artifacts could wreck unspeakable horrors."

"Of whose hands do you speak?" the druid replied coolly, feigning innocence. "Mine, Prince Lamorak's, or your own?"

Voltain bared his teeth in warning. "Do you think this is a game?" he snarled. "You couldn't possibly understand just what is at stake here! Do you realize that if the Princes of Shade get their hands on yet another of the Imaskarcana, they will be that much closer to using that power to enslave every free race the world over?!"

The druid thought back over his time spent with Lamorak, recalling with an altogether unfamiliar sense of fondness the Third Prince's grim determination and indomitable spirit and above all else his unwavering loyalty for his brother Brennus. Never once had Lamorak shown any outward sign or spoken a single word to suggest that global domination was a factor in any of the decisions he made – no, his quest was one of duty and familial affection, his only goal the safe restoration of a brother he adored. It prompted him to answer, "I think perhaps you do not understand what drives him nearly as well as I do."

Sparks were veritably flying from Voltain's eyes now, and the spellbook tucked against his chest began to glow ominously; the druid sensed the time to act was almost upon him, and a thrill of anticipation bolted down his spine. "The Imaskarcana rightfully belong to the descendants of Lord Ilphemon!" the wizard roared, "and I will not allow anyone to interfere in my reclamation of them!"

Oddly Aveil's face drifted to the forefront of the grizzled druid's memory at those words, and with a grim smile he muttered, "Just because something belongs to you does not mean you are entitled to it for all time."

The wizard brought his now-crackling tome to bear, but the taciturn druid had no need to scan pages to reach the outcome he desired; feeling the familiar warmth of the untamed wilderness thrumming beneath his fingertips he whisked the handful of plump seeds from his pocket and tossed them with expert precision into his adversary's face. The instant they came into contact with the Lord Artificer their thin shells burst, emitting a blinding flash and an explosion of angry red spores, and Voltain's resultant howl of rage derailed his own attempt at spellcasting as he waved an arm vigorously in an attempt to clear the crimson cloud. This proved to be a poor reaction, for every time the arm of his voluminous robes passed through the haze more and more tiny pinpricks of flame flared to life along the fabric until the entire right side of Voltain's body had become engulfed, and sparing a smirk for his momentary victory the druid chose that moment to put the wizard at his back and drop down into the chasm through which Lamorak had fallen. He wasn't foolish enough to assume his trick would keep the Lord Artificer preoccupied for long, and knew that he needed to rejoin Prince Lamorak as soon as possible to have any hope of fending him off.

The fall took longer than the druid anticipated and would have proved potentially deadly had he not used magic to slow his descent, and when he at last reached bottom his eye was drawn immediately to Lamorak. The prince's eyes were blazing with livid silver fire, his body outlined in a shimmering azure aura so bright he was difficult to gaze upon for more than a handful of seconds; the book he cradled in the crook of his elbow lay open and its pages were rippling violently, bluish vapor pouring from within and blanketing the ground with its eerie ethereal mist. At first glance it appeared that the Third Prince had lost himself in the vast magical energy of the Imaskarcana, but then those chilling silver eyes snapped upon him and the druid knew his companion was lucid still.

"Get away from there!" Lamorak bellowed at him in a voice like the pealing of thunder, but the druid did not perceive the grave danger all around him until it was far too late.

Something wound with almost sickening intimacy around the druid's ankle and pulled taut, overbalancing him and sending him crashing unceremoniously face-first to the ground; he twisted frantically to glimpse his attacker but could only see the dark outline of some whip-like appendage as it lashed in his direction. It twined around his throat and squeezed like a deadly serpent to subdue him, and Lamorak could only watch in horror as the black tendril burrowed into the base of the struggling druid's skull before he at last grew still. Certain his traveling companion had met a truly gruesome end at the mercy of the illithid elder brain Lamorak roared and unleashed a stroke of blue-white lightning, at once severing three of the groping extensions of the brain as they sought to ensnare him –

But then the druid stirred from where he had collapsed upon the spongey surface of the exposed brain and pushed himself upright, his eyes seeking Lamorak's, and immediately the Third Prince knew that a truly monstrous fate had befallen the other man. The eyes that met his were empty and unseeing, the face slack and emotionless; he regained his feet clumsily as though his extremities would not quite obey before leaping down to the ground to face Lamorak on equal footing.

Lamorak's eyes darted knowingly to a point behind the now-zombielike druid, where the writhing black tentacle still connected his companion to the elder brain, and guessed at once what had happened.

"He's under its control," Brennus confirmed aloud, and much to Lamorak's surprise it sounded as though his youngest brother had already resigned himself to the druid's fate.

Disturbed by the loremaster's sudden lack of empathy, Lamorak felt compelled to argue. "Then we will sever the connection and restore him – surely he is not lost to us!"

"Leave him!" howled Brennus, and Lamorak froze in shock to hear such remorselessness from his once-kind brother. "And leave the elder brain! We must delve deeper if we are to locate the Fourth Imaskarcana in time!"

There was a time when Third Prince Lamorak would have sized up such a dire situation with once-characteristic pragmatism and done precisely as Brennus suggested – but that was a time before he had met Phendrana, the man possessed of unending optimism who believed even now in the innate goodness of all those around him, and he was not so devoid of self-awareness that he didn't recognize how Phendrana's presence had changed him. That, coupled with the knowledge that this stranger had saved his life and stuck by him through all his trials since falling into the Anauroch Desert, fueled Lamorak's decision. "I won't leave him! It is only because of him that we have gotten this far at all!"

"Voltain Darkydle is upon us!" wailed the Twelfth Prince, and Lamorak thought he could feel the energy of the Imaskarcana reaching out to him, attempting to warp his perceptions and alter his will to a more preferable state of mind; Lamorak balked at the intrusion, and immediately the magic recoiled. "Lamorak, please… we are so close. Please, brother!"

But Lamorak's mind was made up, even as the druid took his first jerky step forward to confront him. "And Voltain Darkydle will not stand between us and your sure salvation, Brennus. We will defeat him, and we will reach the Fourth Imaskarcana, and you will be made whole again… but not like this. Not at the sacrifice of your humanity. I made the druid a promise, dear brother, don't you recall? Anything within my power… and surely this paltry foe cannot rival your newfound power, can it?"

The insinuation that perhaps the elder brain was too much for him had precisely the effect Lamorak was hoping for; the tome grew cold in his arms, and though the pages ceased to flutter and lay almost deathly still the answering swell of power Lamorak felt would have been answer enough. "Surely not," Brennus growled, rising to the challenge, and Lamorak stalked forward to meet the enslaved druid as tucked against his arm the Sixth Imaskarcana smoldered with arcane potential and began to burn.

As if hoping to waylay the Third Prince the elder brain bade its tentacles to attack; perhaps it assumed Lamorak's attentions were fully focused on the druid it had ensnared, but such was Brennus's attunement to his brother's mind that he sensed the ploy immediately. The ghostly blue aura pulsed like a solar flare and the two grasping tendrils simply shriveled from the intense heat and disintegrated into ash. The druid stumbled forward with blank eyes and laid both palms upon the ground as though bracing himself, and then great verdant roots were tearing through the stone as some massive plant fed on his magic and began to grow –

"Stop him!" Brennus wailed, even as a great fissure rent the ground and the beginnings of a flower bulb tore free of the earth, and Lamorak loosed a ball of azure lightning that struck the bulb rather than his would-be adversary. The spell impacted the bulb with a force that sent tremors through the ground underfoot but it did not burst; yet another black appendage slithered in Lamorak's direction but expired when it drew too near the magical flames, and then the bulb opened of its own accord.

It was a monstrous flytrap Lamorak now faced, with sizzling acid dripping from its fangs and razor-sharp leaves surrounding its gaping maw. The Third Prince glanced past the gnashing plant to regard the druid, whose eyes remained perfectly blank and whose jaw was slack and unresponsive, and couldn't help but despair – if he destroyed the plant another would surely take its place, and if he assailed the druid the other man would likely not survive. So how to stop him?

Lamorak was still pondering how best to proceed when half a dozen of the writhing black appendages hastily withdrew, snaking up the sides of the brain and rising up defensively as a single dark shape descended through the large chasm in the ceiling through which Lamorak had fallen; the Sixth Imaskarcana grew so hot that it scorched the flesh of Lamorak's hand, and the Third Prince knew that Voltain Darkydle had found him at last.

"Give me the Sixth Imaskarcana!" the Lord Artificer commanded, even as the wriggling extensions of the elder brain swarmed over him, but with a somewhat lazy wave of one arm he laid them all low with some manner of invisible enchantment that left Lamorak feeling sick to his stomach. "Give it to me, and I will allow you to live!"

"I will not give it to you now," Lamorak shot back tonelessly, and at a single mental insinuation from him the tome levitated into the air, gleaming like a star as it prepared to cast a spell. "Perhaps when I have saved my brother I will no longer have a use for it!"

"Not even then," snarled Brennus in a defiant and possessive tone, and Lamorak's lips curled back over his ceremonial fangs as he offered Voltain Darkydle a truly malevolent smile.

"You heard him," finished the Third Prince with a negligent shrug, then the tome hovering before him erupted with a shower of white light so intense that Lamorak had to shield his eyes and Voltain howled in pain and rage.

"Quickly!" Brennus bade him, his disembodied voice thin with desperation, and Lamorak lurched forward with unsteady feet and streaming eyes; the silhouette of the druid was just visible before him, a barely-humanoid shape nearly lost within the white flash filling the dank chamber, and he groped for the other man's arm mechanically as if to drag him away. There issued a kind of defensive growl and that arm was ripped from Lamorak's grasp remorselessly, and the ominous sound of acid dripping from the nearby jaws of the flytrap sent a shiver through the Third Prince's body. Swiftly he shifted the spellbook to his other arm and whisked his black glass dagger from a fold of his tattered robes, and with expert precision he struck at the tendril still embedded in the base of the unfortunate druid's skull.

Lamorak's shock was mind-numbing when his weapon glanced harmlessly off the elder brain's appendage and shattered into thousands of glittering black shards.

"Attacking him will have no effect now," Brennus observed sourly. "He is merely another extension of the elder brain's will, much like the black lengths protruding from the larger mass… if you insist on freeing him, you will likely have to destroy the brain to do so."

Lamorak flung the remains of the dagger away from him in frustration and swiped his arm across his eyes, which were still streaming from the explosion of light, and was about to skirt around the druid and target the elder brain when the flytrap lunged for him and clamped its thin, razor-sharp mandibles down on his other arm – the one supporting the Imaskarcana.

The pain was excruciating, but it was still second to the all-consuming fear he felt when his grip on the ancient tome began to slacken. Though he thrashed desperately to free himself the flytrap proved impossible to shake and merely ground its teeth down cruelly, tearing through flesh and sinew, its acidic saliva burning through the now-exposed bone; by now the flare of light had almost completely faded and Voltain Darkydle was swooping down toward him with vengeance in his eyes, and instinctively Lamorak did the only thing he could think of – with a keen of utter agony he wrenched himself away from the gnashing flytrap, tearing his arm in half at the elbow and abandoning the Imaskarcana to its ravenous maw.

"Lamorak!" shrieked Brennus, his voice just audible over Voltain's roar of assumed victory, as Lamorak half-lunged, half-fell away from the slavering flytrap.

It was fortunate that he did, for if he hadn't he would never have avoided the spell Voltain cast. A blackish-purple bolt of some necrotic energy lanced from the rippling pages of the Imaskarcana clutched in his hands, striking the precise spot where Lamorak had been wrestling with the flytrap just moments before; instantly the bolt melted into a sickly sludge that oozed along the ground, and the droplets that flecked the flytrap began to smolder and eat away at its protective leaves like a cancer. With his good arm Lamorak braced his hand upon the floor and shoved himself upright, momentarily amazed that he was still thinking clearly despite the searing pain emanating from his torn and bloodied half-arm, and he dashed past the zombielike druid with his eyes upon the grayish mass of the elder brain as Voltain whirled on him furiously.

Lamorak knew that in fleeing he was leaving himself vulnerable to attack from behind, and when he heard the Lord Artificer's voice he knew another devastating spell was incoming, but as he was no longer armed with the Sixth Imaskarcana he knew that standing up to Voltain was foolish. Still he was surprised when Voltain's ringing voice was cut off by a snarl of frustration, and daring to glance over his shoulder Lamorak easily discerned what had happened – the druid had turned his sights on Voltain Darkydle and so too had the deadly flytrap, which opened wide its horrible maw and loosed a deluge of sickly green acid the Lord Artificer's way. Fortunately Voltain's cry derailed his own spellcasting and Lamorak turned back, now some fifty feet away from his enemy with the elder brain looming behind him with writhing tentacles already slithering along the ground toward him.

"Damn you to the Nine Hells, druid!" Voltain roared, thrusting one hand palm-forward in the enslaved nomad's direction, and impulsively Lamorak did the only thing he could think to do then – he lunged for the black appendage that joined the elder brain and the unfortunate druid together, seized it with his one remaining arm, and pulled with every ounce of his strength.

Tethered to the tentacle at the brain stem the druid swooned backward and collapsed heavily to the ground, even as yet another wave of arcane magic burst from Voltain's outstretched hand; the column of fire meant to incinerate the druid passed harmlessly over his head instead, thanks to the Third Prince's timely intervention. Lamorak himself was near enough to the inferno that the flames licked the right side of his face, but that pain was almost negligible when compared to the agony of his mangled arm. Turning slowly on his heel the Determinist Prime followed the trajectory of the fire with his eyes, relieved beyond measure when the spell struck precisely where he had hoped it would upon missing the enslaved druid – the defenseless elder brain lurking in the center of the chamber. Empowered by the great Imaskarcana the fiery column scorched a hole clean through the elder brain and it went up in flames with a deafening psychic howl that rang through their minds; Voltain stumbled, caught off guard by the sudden din, but Lamorak had been anticipating it and merely winced the discomfort away. The stench rolling off the burning elder brain was nearly debilitating and Lamorak had to clap his good hand over his mouth in an attempt to keep from retching; the black tendrils that were extensions of the brain spasmed weirdly as the aberration suffered its final death throes, and with a gut-wrenching popping sound the tentacle anchored to the druid's brain stem came free.

There was no time to see to his companion's well-being, however, as Lamorak sprang up and took off at a sprint, slipping a little in a pool of his own shadowblood as he went. Voltain was recovering quickly and hefted the Imaskarcana in his defense but Lamorak was prepared for his intervention and loosed an orb of pure darkness his way, which engulfed the Lord Artificer in its impenetrable blackness and completely obscured his sight; Voltain's concentration was commendable and Lamorak's spell didn't manage to interrupt his casting, but with his sight so impaired Voltain could only guess at his target's location and the bolt of lightning he launched missed the Third Prince by several yards. By then Lamorak had barreled on past and left Voltain in his wake, for the Lord Artificer hadn't been his aim at all.

Sprouting long, serrated black claws of shadow from his remaining hand Lamorak gritted his teeth and fell upon the feral flytrap with the ferocity of a wild animal, seemingly oblivious to the cruel little teeth tearing at his shoulder and upper torso as he set to tearing the ravenous plant into yellow-green chunks of indistinguishable plant matter. When Lamorak had succeeded in prying the top half of the flytrap's maw open he plunged his shadow claws deep down the creature's throat, and with uncharacteristic ruthlessness he ripped the flytrap apart from the inside.

The Sixth Imaskarcana was just visible within the disgusting heap of the plant's innards, miraculously unharmed by the acidic saliva and digestive juices drenching its cover.

"I won't tell you how unsavory you appear at the moment," the Third Prince murmured in a black humor, dispelling his shadow claws and scooping the tome back up into his single working arm at once, his words meant for Brennus.

"Much obliged," the loremaster answered at once, and judging by the tone of his voice Lamorak was certain his youngest brother would be wrinkling his nose in disgust if he still inhabited his body. "Are you alright? I suppose you'll be needing your other arm before this is all over…" Even as he said this a warm, pale orange glow much like candlelight bathed Lamorak's half-healed arm, speeding along his body's rate of regeneration until the Third Prince was flexing the newly-grown appendage experimentally only a handful of seconds later.

"How…?" Lamorak whirled at that, his eyes falling upon Voltain Darkydle; though he still held the Fifth Imaskarcana at the ready the Lord Artificer appeared dumbfounded where he stood, as though for the moment he had utterly forgotten he was addressing his bitter enemy. "How are you doing that? You wield the Imaskarcana with such skill… such natural aptitude… but how can it be? Your kind knows nothing of High Imaskar… this magic should be beyond you." He shook his head vigorously then as if to dispel his doubts, and his eyes inexplicably hardened as he demanded, "Tell me how you have attained such a mastery of the Imaskarcana, shadow-dweller, and do it quickly. I have no choice now but to end your life – you are far too great a threat to be left alive."

Lamorak didn't answer at first but thrust out one hand for the druid to take; his companion appeared dazed but mostly unhurt, and allowed the Third Prince to heave him to his feet with a nod of appreciation. After giving the druid a quick but careful once-over he condescended to answer, though his response was one Voltain simply couldn't comprehend – not because he was incapable of doing so, but because their situations were so radically different. "My mastery of the tome has nothing at all to do with my diligent study and carefully exercised caution," Lamorak admitted, "and everything to do with the love and trust I have placed in my brother. The power I wield is all thanks to him – I am simply a conduit for his determination, and his bravery."

Voltain actually scoffed, and an aura of fluctuating magic flared to life around him as he prepared to strike. "What sort of fool do you take me for? The Imaskarcana have nothing to do with the petty emotions of us mortals."

"Spoken like a man who has never watched a loved one suffer the cruel magics of the artifacts created by his ancestors," snarled Lamorak, and he clutched his spellbook even tighter as the cool blue flames leapt to life all around him once more.

The grizzled druid flinched away from Lamorak as the magical fire roared ever brighter, and when the two combatants clashed the resultant influx of arcane power sent a shock wave through the chamber that punched the air from his lungs and whisked him off his feet. He watched through bleary eyes as the Third Prince and the Lord Artificer flung spell after spell at one another, overwhelmed and truly humbled by each crackle of lightning and smoldering column of flame and evocation of other devastating enchantments he had no names for, and could not find the inner strength to reclaim his feet right away. He would never have admitted it to Lamorak - whose tenacity he considered truly inspiring - but the short time he had been enslaved by the illithid elder brain had taken a heavy toll on him; the base of his skull ached terribly where the hideous black appendage had seized control of his body, and summoning a creature as large and powerful as the fearsome flytrap had left him utterly exhausted. Intruding upon this spellcaster's duel was not something the druid intended to do if he could otherwise avoid it, for not only was he certain his powers would pale in comparison he knew that further intervention on his part would likely leave him magically depleted and defenseless. He knew well enough how much was riding on the outcome of this battle and did not want to become a liability to Lamorak in any way, for one way or another the culmination of the Third Prince's months of hardship was swiftly approaching.

So his shock was complete when, with all those thoughts in mind, he watched Lamorak's head whip in his direction as he bellowed, "Hurry! You must go!"

With a tremendous effort the druid clambered to his feet, eyes tired, face haggard. "Go where?" he called back, his feeble voice nearly lost in the answering rumble that accompanied Voltain Darkydle's next spell.

Lamorak opened his hands almost reverently and the Sixth Imaskarcana levitated of its own accord, rotating gently until it floated with its pristine dragonhide cover facing the Lord Artificer; the cone of subzero cold Voltain had cast glanced harmlessly off an invisible magical shield radiating off the book, and shouting a quick command in Roushoum the Third Prince sent the spell rebounding back toward its caster. Voltain bared his teeth in a grimace and waved one hand and conjured a thin veil of steam, which neutralized the incoming frost into a cloud of silver fog with a harsh hissing sound. Lamorak's eyes flashed as they settled upon the slack-jawed druid, twin pools of manic blue - the same hue of the magic fire leaping off the tome and engulfing his entire body – and instinctively the druid knew that if Lamorak continued to channel the book's power so desperately for much longer he was in danger of being utterly consumed by it. "Find the Fourth Imaskarcana!" Lamorak bade him, his voice as much a command as it was a plea. "I will hold him off as long as I can!"

The druid shook his head incredulously, even as Voltain's next spell resulted in an explosion so violent that he felt the shock waves from it vibrate through his very bones. He glanced all around, hoping to glimpse another staircase that might lead even deeper into the ruins, but there was nothing that he could see and he could only gaze helplessly up at Lamorak as the magical flames threatened to consume the Third Prince's body entirely. "Even if I found it," he cried, "I could never hope to wield it!"

"You need only keep it from him!" Lamorak howled, even as he conjured a boiling cloud that rolled throughout the crumbling chamber, its sickly green haze seeping acid rain that tore through Voltain Darkydle's richly woven robes.

Grimly determined the druid started to move, pushing his body's discomfort to the back of his mind and allowing the urgency of the situation to take precedence, but he managed only a few paces before he was accosted from above; Voltain Darkydle swooped down like a wraith, his face suddenly deranged, the pages of the spellbook he held crackling with electricity.

"You will not take it from me!" the Lord Artificer shrieked, his voice somehow magnified by the radical influx of magic filling the sweeping chamber, and the ripples of sonic energy blew the hood back onto the druid's shoulders, buffeted his clothes and tore at his grizzled white hair; in an attempt to defend his companion Lamorak loosed a searing bolt of white lightning but Voltain drifted to the side at the last moment and avoided it, and instead it crashed into the ground mere feet away from where the druid stood with a devastating impact that exploded stars in front of his eyes –

A great fissure ripped through the stone at the druid's feet, large cracks snaking out in all directions from the point of the spell's impact; Lamorak barked out a warning and stretched out one hand frantically in the druid's direction, and though he reached their fingers couldn't quite touch before the fissure grew dramatically and the ground opened up beneath him. An aftershock rocked the chamber, then a second, and suddenly the entire floor was crumbling away, and Lamorak watched in abject horror as his companion disappeared in a shower of ruined rock and golden sand.

It was two days before Clariburnus was to meet with Archmage Gromph Baenre to fulfill the terms agreed upon for Soleil and Aveil's release when Yder returned with the best news any of them had heard in nigh on half a year.

"The Army of Shade is mobilizing," the Sixth Prince announced with a broad smile that nearly took in his ears. "I expect them here in roughly a day's time. Rapha is leading them, and they are marching as though the Night Mother herself were guiding their feet. The appointed hour is nearly upon us."

Clariburnus's answering grin surpassed even Yder's in exuberance and he rounded on his eldest brother, who up until that moment had been skulking restlessly near the back of the dark cave that had been their refuge in the countless weeks since their shameful retreat; his shuffling feet halted and he gazed back at Clariburnus with a flicker of cautious hope in his eyes, and it seemed to the Fifth Prince that a little life had been breathed back into Escanor's ghost upon hearing Yder's news. "Then we will go soon," Escanor observed in a detached voice, as though he scarcely dared to believe it.

"The moment Rapha has rejoined us," Clariburnus vowed, "and the Army of Shade is near."

Escanor dropped right down to his knees and dissolved into a soft prayer of thanks to Shar without another word to either of them; Clariburnus turned back to Yder with a businesslike air. "Escanor will lead the Army of Shade in my stead," he informed his brother, "and you and Rapha will accompany him. For the love of the Dark Lady, follow his instructions to the letter – I will tell Rapha the same when he arrives."

Yder balked at this. "You are not joining us?"

The Fifth Prince shook his head solemnly, though his eyes were glittering with barely contained excitement. "My place is elsewhere – I must take to the tunnels, and utilize the secret passageway that Faeryl and I took such pains to secure. I will be taking a small group of our stealthiest warriors, and we will infiltrate House Baenre. The Baenres believe they now hold every advantage, and they will not be expecting us to mount a frontal assault with negotiations so arranged. I fully expect the city to fall into chaos, and none will mark my passing with the Army of Shade at the Baenre's doorstep. I will prioritize Soleil and Aveil's safety, but you can be sure that I will eliminate any Baenre foolish enough to stand in my way if circumstances allow."

A devious grin was spreading slowly across Yder's face with every passing word. "And the moment Soleil and Aveil are safely out of harm's way…"

"We will put every single drow we can get our hands on to the sword," Clariburnus finished, his voice low and saturated with uncharacteristic malice, but his expression was devoid of sympathy and Yder did not feel compelled to chastise him.

Escanor at last spoke up from the back of the cave, taking his feet and joining them near the cavern's mouth as he did so. "Subterfuge is not your strong suit, brother, if I may be so bold," he pointed out, a touch of concern lining his brow.

Clariburnus dropped a hand bracingly down upon his eldest brother's shoulder, saying, "Perhaps not, but this is my brother's beloved wife – my sister – whose safety is at stake here. I will do what I must. Now, in the meantime we must continue our vigilance. Yder, you have had a long journey – rest now while there is still time."

Escanor was already skirting past the pair of them for the mouth of the cave, but Clariburnus laid a hand on his arm to stop him; the First Prince regarded his younger brother with a combination of confusion and annoyance, saying, "It is my turn to patrol the tunnels."

"That may be so," reasoned Clariburnus, "but I feel your place for the time being is here, keeping watch and steeling yourself for what we must do. Do what you must to rein in your emotions and clear the cobwebs from your thoughts – you have more of a personal stake in this than anyone, and we need your reflexes keen and your mind sharp. The battlefield is no place for indecision, brother."

Though his shoulders slumped a little and his face appeared momentarily crestfallen, Escanor did not argue. "I know in my heart that you are right, but I can hardly bear to stay idle. I only hope that my skill with a blade has remained sharp after all these weeks in hiding."

"Of that I have no doubt!" Clariburnus answered boisterously with a laugh and a wink, but rather than share the sentiment it seemed Escanor's eyes had grown colder; seizing his brother by the wrist Escanor strode past him with grim purpose in his eyes as he brought his sword to bear, and Clariburnus hurried along in his wake as Yder scrambled to keep up.

"There is movement at the opposite end of the cavern," hissed Escanor, jerking his head in that direction to accentuate his point. "It is far too soon for Rapha to be returning… someone else is here."

That was explanation enough for Clariburnus, who was unsheathing his glaive before the First Prince had even finished speaking; they both managed a single step out of the cave mouth and into the Darklake cavern with murderous intent in their eyes, but with one firm hand upon each of their shoulders Yder held them fast. The Sixth Prince's expression more than the physical restraint gave his brothers pause, a poignant amalgamation of utter shock and sure recognition, and they followed his stricken gaze to where a single lone figure was indeed entering the chamber.

There was a familiar haze of black vapor enshrouding him from head to toe, and beneath it were sure signs of a difficult road traveled. He wore stained black breeches and a matching jerkin that was all but ruined by countless tears in the fabric, and the once-fine cloak hanging off his shoulders trailed sadly along in his wake in singed tatters. Upon his hands could be seen long-dried, reddish-black stains that spoke of the certain carnage he had left in his wake, and similar stains were clearly visible upon the sheath strapped along his outer thigh and the hilt of the dagger housed within it. Though his tread was sluggish and slowing even as he approached them there was a keen alertness shimmering in his eyes, an unmistakable sign that there was fight in him yet, and when at last he paused just ten feet away and swept those intense crimson eyes over them a genuine smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

A stunned Clariburnus swallowed hard past the lump of unbidden emotion that had formed in his throat at the sight of this unexpected new arrival, his mouth suddenly unbearably dry when he rasped out, "By the grace of Shar… Aglarel?!"

"It… it is," confirmed Yder, his face haunted but growing more jubilant with every passing moment.

A shriek of glass upon stone rang through the cavern, loud and unexpected enough that both Clariburnus and Yder jumped; the sword had fallen from Escanor's increasingly slackened grip and clattered all but forgotten upon the jagged, rocky shoreline. He stumbled forward with one hand outstretched and trembling, his eyes unmistakably misty with unshed tears of pure elation, and caught Aglarel in a rough embrace that forced a choked laugh from Clariburnus's lips.

"I knew you'd come," said Escanor gruffly, his face buried in Aglarel's shoulder muffling the words but not suppressing them. "I knew it."

The other two leapt forward at once with incredulous laughs, heartily clapping the Fourth Prince on the back in welcome, and though none of them had ever known Aglarel to be forthcoming with displays of affection he embraced them all with obvious warmth. "Seeing the three of you is the most welcome sight I could ever have asked for after all this time," he told them when at last they could bear to release him, his words radiating sincerity. "Mine has not been an easy road, and I have longed for nothing so much as to find myself amongst the familiar faces of those I call family. Words cannot express…"

Yder was taking in Aglarel's many wounds with a practiced eye, his grin steadily dissolving into a frown the longer he looked, and while Escanor and Clariburnus continued to shower the assassin with a continued stream of praise and salutation he looped an arm around Aglarel's shoulders and steered him carefully away. The protests that arose as a result were expected, but did not dissuade him from his decision.

"Surely you can see that our dear brother is on his last legs," Yder pointed out sternly, halting their complaints immediately. "And with our great undertaking fast approaching, the best thing we can do now is to provide him with the care and rest he so sorely needs. So stay your questions for now and help me – this place has none of the comforts of home, but if we three work together we can at the very least ease his burdens."

So it was that the three of them spent the morning not lost in their own dark thoughts as they had expected, but investing their time and energy into making the road-weary Aglarel as comfortable as they could with the limited resources at their disposal. They bustled about fussily while Aglarel washed the sweat and grime from his body in the Darklake – Clariburnus managed to catch a couple of fish, Yder gathered some of the more flavorful mushrooms from the darkest corners of the cavern, and Escanor prepared a fire just outside the mouth of their smaller, well-sheltered cave. Regrettably his enchanted cloak, the one High Prince Telamont had gifted him decades ago of which the Fourth Prince was so fond, could not be salvaged, but Yder gave the rest of Aglarel's battered clothing a thorough scrubbing in the shallow waters near the cave while Escanor dutifully cooked the fish. When the meal was cooked Escanor dragged a sizeable boulder nearer to the fire and laid Aglarel's sodden clothes on it to dry; Clariburnus draped his own traveling cloak over the Fourth Prince's shoulders to keep him warm, and clad in his underclothes Aglarel set upon his meal ravenously while Yder used his divine magic to ease the hurt of the Fourth Prince's more grievous wounds.

An hour and more saw them all installed companionably around a well-tended fire, and while Aglarel alternated between quaffing gulps of water from Clariburnus's waterskin and meticulously sharpening his dagger they felt that perhaps the time had come to voice some of their questions.

"Aglarel, of course we are overjoyed to see you," Clariburnus began, while Escanor and Yder nodded along their heartfelt agreement, "but how have you come to find yourself among us? I converse with the Most High regularly, but he mentioned not a word of your arrival."

The Fourth Prince chewed thoughtfully, his brilliant crimson eyes downcast and shamed, and it was a long time before he could muster the courage to answer. "I left Thultanthar of my own accord," he told them at last in a pensive voice. "Without the High Prince's knowledge, or his blessing."

Yder actually gasped, and he and Clariburnus shot one another a fearful glance; Escanor, though, displayed an entirely different reaction, leaning forward with elbows balanced on knees and a knowing glint in his eye. "You have not come to aid us," the First Prince reasoned, his words more of a statement than an inquiry. "Or perhaps you have, but that is not all that drives you."

"You have the right of it," admitted Aglarel freely, tossing a fishbone over his shoulder and into the still waters of the Darklake. "I spoke with the Most High myself several days ago and he told me where to find you, but I freely confess that I left the enclave weeks before I had knowledge of your location or your intentions to invade Menzoberranzan once more."

"Then why?!" cried Yder, his eyes wide. "The consequences – "

"Are tomorrow's concern," Aglarel overrode him balefully around a mouthful of roasted mushroom, and gazing upon the defiant set of the Fourth Prince's jaw and the steadfast gleam in his eye Escanor knew the conclusion he had arrived upon was the right one.

"You're here for the Sceptrana." Again, there was no question in Escanor's voice – he knew he was right.

Aglarel gazed up at his eldest brother with a stony expression, but there remained a hint of his earlier defiance in those startling crimson eyes; they had all noticed the odd hue of his irises the moment they had laid eyes on him, but thus far no one had made mention of it. "I am," Aglarel confirmed simply, his shoulders stiffening, and Escanor realized his mysterious brother was fully expecting to be ridiculed for his choice. Rather chastise him Escanor merely shrugged and leaned forward, swiping a particularly delectable looking mushroom from the pile and tossing it into his own mouth, and in response to Aglarel's mystified look the First Prince threw his head back and erupted into a gale of genuine laughter for the first time in many months.

"Brother," Escanor began, reaching forward to clasp Aglarel at the shoulder, "I am the last person from whom you should expect to be castigated for following your heart's desires. You see, when I first realized I had fallen in love with Soleil – not some simple infatuation or superficial lust, but love – I vowed that every decision I made from that point forward would be in service to her. I swore to the High Prince that I would always work to achieve his desires and I would continue to strive toward Thultanthar's advancement and supremacy, but I told him I intended to make Soleil's happiness and well-being my utmost priority." At that Escanor's eyes clouded with sorrow and he looked away, perhaps remembering the dire straits his beloved bride was in, and added, "I confess, I have done a truly abysmal job of that of late. But when our campaign succeeds, and I have her safe in my arms again, I will re-devote myself to her happiness and cherish every moment I spend in her presence." With a great effort, it seemed, he trained his eyes upon Aglarel again, who had been watching him with quiet solemnity all the while, and finished, "Is this what you want for yourself? For Aveil?"

Aglarel could not bring himself to speak, it seemed; nevertheless, the minute nod he offered in wordless reply was answer enough for Escanor.

"Then we will achieve our goals together," Escanor told him with a bolstering smile, and Clariburnus couldn't help the infectious grin that spread over his own face – who would have thought that one day Fourth Prince Aglarel, one who had always considered compassion to be a worthless emotion and who had long been viewed as the black sheep of the Tanthul family, would be declaring his love for a woman? Clariburnus felt a little forlorn and wistful then, his mind straying to Faeryl for reasons he could only guess, and thought perhaps he understood Aglarel's predicament a little.

"Tell me," Aglarel began, in a guarded tone that clearly indicated the subject of his feelings for Aveil was no longer open for discussion, "What is your plan? The High Prince mentioned another siege on Menzoberranzan, but he had little to say as to the circumstances. He has shared with me the terms laid out for the safe return of Aveil and Soleil, but he has also stated in no uncertain terms that he has no intention of agreeing to them." A truly malicious grin lit up the assassin's face then, made all the more ominous when paired with his demonic ruby eyes, and he finished, "He also told me that he had given you strict instructions to await his next order, but that he knew full well you would do nothing of the sort."

Clariburnus alternated sheepish glances between Yder and Escanor, who both appeared similarly abashed, and felt momentarily foolish for ever thinking he could put such schemes into motion without alerting the High Prince to the truth of his intentions. "Then I suppose we shall all answer for our insubordination on the day we at last return to Thultanthar," the Fifth Prince observed, wringing a dry chuckle from Escanor and a disheartened sigh from Yder, "but we cannot afford to think of that now. We do have a plan – it is a bold one, but I have every confidence it will work."

"Even more so now that you have joined us, brother," Yder put in, tossing a wink Aglarel's way, and the assassin's mischievous grin only intensified.

"Indeed," Clariburnus agreed, and leaning conspiratorially forward he divulged the details of their plan to lead to Army of Shade back into Menzoberranzan, to use the secret passageway to circumvent House Baenre's perimeter guard and infiltrate the compound undetected, and to smuggle Soleil and Aveil out of the dungeons while the Army of Shade kept the unsuspecting Baenres occupied. Aglarel listened intently and did not voice his thoughts until Clariburnus had shared all the particulars; by then he had finished every last bite of his meal and scooted a little nearer to the fire, and it was clear by the renewed vigor in his eyes that a little food and rest had worked wonders to restore his strength.

He had only one thing to say, which Clariburnus had anticipated from the start. "I'm coming with you," Aglarel insisted, his tone leaving no room for debate. "Into the Baenre compound. Into the dungeons."

Clariburnus nodded – knowing the Fourth Prince's natural aptitude for stealth, he would never have suggested otherwise. "Of course. It would be an honor."

Aglarel gathered the Fifth Prince's cloak closer about his shoulders to ward off the dank chill of the subterranean cave, gazing introspectively into the fire. "And how much longer must we wait to enact this plan?"

He was clearly impatient, which Clariburnus could not fault him for – they all were. Lying in wait, skulking in caves, forced to play the power games of lesser races, these were all acts the Princes of Shade considered far beneath them; they were used to taking what they wanted, with no regard for those who opposed them. It was their way. "As soon as the Army of Shade is in position," he promised. "Rapha is leading them here as we speak. The journey will take less than a day – our soldiers have been waiting many weeks for the opportunity to slaughter more drow, and they are eager for this chance. They will move quickly."

"We should all rest while we are able," Yder interjected pointedly, and though his observation included all of them it was clear in the way his concerned gaze surreptitiously flitted the assassin's way every few seconds that his words were meant for Aglarel, and with good reason. Now that Aglarel was fed, clean, warm, and his wounds had been tended his eyelids were beginning to grow heavy, and silently his brothers wondered how long it had been since he'd had a proper night's sleep.

"Aglarel, are you willing to answer a few more questions?" pressed Escanor gently, and though both Yder and Clariburnus sent disapproving glares the First Prince's way they were bound by the hierarchy of their birth to keep their protests to themselves. Though it was clear that Aglarel was growing weary of talking he nodded once to convey his willingness, prompting Escanor to ask, "There is one thing I do not understand… you made this solitary journey of yours on foot, correct? Why did you not shadow walk? You would have traversed the distance in a fraction of the time."

"Yes – that would have been much quicker," agreed Aglarel in a carefully guarded tone, his eyes never straying from the little fire around which the four of them still huddled; the flames reflected clearly in his crimson eyes, giving the illusion that the inferno lived within him, and Escanor suppressed a shudder. The Fourth Prince's eventual response was maddeningly vague. "I needed time."

An uneasy silence descended upon them, bringing with it a chill the fire could not chase away, broken only when Clariburnus echoed, "Time?"

Aglarel nodded, appearing quite distant now. "Time to come to terms with who I truly am. Time to attain some measure of self-acceptance, and to purge myself of all my fear and loathing and doubt. Time to explore the depths of what I am capable of, and learn to control it." He shook his head at that, his lips twisting as though the words rolling off his tongue brought with them some unpleasant taste, and corrected himself automatically. "No, not just control it… understand it. I needed time to find myself again."

Something about the lonely nature of Aglarel's words, coupled with the forlorn expression he now wore, prompted Escanor to insist, "You are the same man you have always been, brother, and we are overjoyed to have you here with us in our most desperate hour."

Clariburnus chuckled at that, though the sound seemed a little forced, and added, "Well, not quite the same man! He has opened his heart for the first time in his life! I would argue that is quite a monumental difference."

"Agreed," Yder put in. "And there are the eyes, of course."

Aglarel's eyes snapped up to meet Yder's, sharp and intense and violent; Yder actually flinched back, certain his observation had angered the assassin, but then curiosity and confusion drifted to the forefront of Aglarel's gaze and he asked, "My eyes? What about them?"

Escanor and Clariburnus exchanged a disconcerted glance as poor Yder stammered out a reply. "Is… is this a jest? Your eyes are red as blood, brother – they have been from the moment you stumbled into our midst. What manner of spell did you cast to make them appear so?"

Those unnerving crimson eyes seemed to pierce right through Yder as the Fourth Prince silently sought meaning behind those words, a myriad of emotions flashing through their depths – incredulity, fear, anger, confusion, and sorrow, until at last they landed on impassivity; Aglarel turned his gaze back to the fire, and they thought they witnessed the moment when a modicum of the self-acceptance he had mentioned before settled into the severe lines of his face.

"Are they?" Aglarel responded at last. "I hadn't noticed."

And so pronounced was the sudden detachment in his words that his three brothers wordlessly resolved to ask him no more questions for the time being, and instead lapsed into an uneasy silence as they all gazed vacantly at the slowly-dying fire.