CHAPTER VII
Maskyr's Eye, 16 Flamerule, DR 1361, the Year of Maidens
Carine seethed in anger as she fought to control her temper. Aendar had found whatever it was he was looking for, a crown of some sort, among the things in Maskyr's dusty laboratory. The paladin silently tucked the jeweled thing into his pack and sat down to consult his map. Drannamon stood watchfully by the door.
Shalea had seen Aendar take the crown, and was poking around the room herself.
"Shalea," Carine snapped. "Don't touch anything. Your curiosity is going to get us into trouble. Just keep your hands to yourself until Aendar figures out where to go next." The young wizardess ignored her sister's pout, and went to examine the contents of the room for herself. Her attention was immediately drawn to the center of the room, where a large book lay open on a pedestal covered in dust. An arcane staff leaned against the wall next to it. Carine felt herself drawn towards them. Cautiously, she examined them further.
"This is Maskyr's spellbook," she exclaimed. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch the book. When nothing happened, she gingerly turned a page, then another. The book was very old, and though it appeared frail, it did not fall to dust at her careful handling. Carine was almost in awe. Every page was covered with runes, written in a tight, meticulous script. Carine could not make out what was written there, and the runes seemed to shimmer dizzyingly when she tried to read them. With this book, and sufficient time to study it, she could become a mage of great power. Never again would she have to fear men. It is men who would fear her. Carefully, Carine lifted the heavy book from its resting place.
"What are you doing?" asked Aendar, his expression dark.
Shalea looked up as well. "You tell me not to touch things," she said. "And here you are, stealing this old man's book."
Carine sent her sister a black look. "You don't know what you are doing, Shalea, you are just a child. But this," she said, pointing to the ancient book, "do you know what this is?"
"I know exactly what it is, Carine," she answered, "and that is exactly why I didn't touch it. You can't make any better use of that than I can. You're no wizard."
"I know enough," Carine said. "And with this, I can-"
"You always think you know everything!" Shalea jumped to her feet. "Well, if you can take that book, then I can take this." She grabbed Maskyr's staff.
"No!" cried Aendar and Carine in unison.
In one corner of the room stood two antique sets of armor. As if awakened from slumber, the two magical guardians stirred. With weapons raised, the enchanted warriors advanced on the intruders.
"Drannamon, to arms!" shouted Aendar, but the ranger was already moving. "Torm preserve us!"
Shalea's eyes widened in surprise, but Carine saw that her sister was not looking at the two animated suits of armor. On the other side of the room, a rusty spear rose up from the floor. Menacingly, it approached the two sisters. Whether it was wielded by some unseen warrior, or whether the spear itself were magical, they could not tell. "Carine, look out!" Shalea warned.
The ranger and the paladin each closed with one of the armored figures. The guardians moved slowly, but no blow seemed to stop them. No blood came from beneath the steel plates. Aendar swung, and the helm of his oppenent went spinning across the room, but the headless creature did not even hesitate. Drannamon and Aendar soon found themselves standing back-to-back in the dusty chamber, desperately trying to find a way to kill the animated guardians.
Carine turned to face the spear coming towards her. Holding the precious spellbook in one hand, she began the gestures of a frantic spell with the other, but the animated weapon came straight towards her. She had to dodge out of the way, ruining her casting and knocking over the pedestal with a thud. Shalea leapt towards the thing from the side. Still wielding the twisted black staff, she brought it down with both hands on the middle of the animated spear. There was a great flash of light, and a loud snapping sound. The spear broke in two pieces and fell lifeless to the ground, but Shalea also fell, stunned by the magical backlash.
Drannamon went down, felled by a terrible blow to the head by the mace- wielding suit of armor. Aendar leapt aside with an oath, and stood atop the fallen pedestal. Carine knelt beside him, desperately flipping pages in the old spellbook, looking for something she could cast. Shalea and Drannamon lay motionless on the floor. The two clanking metal warriors- one without a head- advanced slowly towards them.
Elsewhere in the room, other objects began to shake and rise up of their own accord. A collection of various things- a chair, a candlestick, a moth- eaten cloak, a brass sphere- whirled menacingly about the room. The brass sphere swooped suddenly at Carine. It struck the side of her head, but she kept her hold on Maskyr's spellbook. The candlestick floated over to Aendar, uselessly banging against the top of his helm. The paladin tried to ignore the distraction and focus his attention on the more lethal opponents. Silently, the animated cloak floated up in the air, over the paladin's head.
Carine turned page after page in the book, but nothing made sense to her. These were the spells of an archmage, and Carine was barely skilled enough to be called an apprentice. Aendar cried out as one of the enchanted armor- clad things landed a blow. Then, her heart leapt. Towards the back of Maskyr's spellbook were many blank pages, but on the very last page, there was something she could read. "To dispell the animations in the Lower Workshop, turn that which is written on the north side of the pedestal in the Crystal Room." This must have been written by Maskyr himself, she thought. But what is the Crystal Room? Carine remembered the room where they had been attacked by the darkmantles. There had been a glowing crystal there, on a pedestal. And she had read the elvish words there. She strained to remember what they were, it seemed so long ago.
Two bodies have I, both joined in one. The less I am moved, the quicker I run.
"A riddle?" Carine muttered. "We are all about to die, and I have to solve a riddle? Curse Maskyr to the Nine Hells, he must have been insane." The animated cloak was hovering above Aendar's head, and the paladin had no idea it was descending towards him. Carine looked around the room. Then, she saw a great hourglass standing forgotten and half-covered in dust in one corner of the room. With a cry, she leapt towards it. "I've got it!" Just as the cloak fell over Aendar's head, blinding him, she turned the hourglass over. With a loud crash, the two suits of armor and all the rest fell clattering to the ground.
Aendar ripped the cloak from his head, and stared at Carine in amazement. She grinned back at him. But then her look of triumph turned to a look of despair, and the paladin followed her gaze. The door to the workshop opened silently. A terrible chill descended on them both. There in the doorway stood a menacing figure of shadow and darkness. The Guardian entered the room.
***
The Sembian merchant stood in the doorway of the Wizard's Hand. He eyed Lhullbannen with obvious distaste. "What are all those riders doing out in the square, anyway? They're raising an awful dust. Just look at my boots! Is that part of the security for the Hornmoot?"
"Ah, well, several villagers have gone missing, you see. That is a search party."
"Hrm, search party you say? That's too bad. You people really could use a few extra guards around here. Last year, I was robbed twice in one night. If any of my things are stolen this time, I'll hold you personally responsible, innkeeper, and make no mistake. And now you tell me the dwarves are late? Honestly, I don't know why I bothered coming all the way here."
"Yes, well, you've nothing to fear under my roof. And the dwarves have never failed to come down. It's probably just a late snow has delayed them a bit this year. Now, if you'd just head on back to your room-"
"What, you expect me to carry my own pack? Silver stars! The Wizard's Hand is not what it used to be. Where are those lovely daughters of yours?"
A pained expression came over Lhullbannen's face. "Well, you see," he stammered. "It's my daughters that have gone missing. Them and my dwarven servant."
The Sembian sighed and shook his head as he hefted his pack. "By Waukeen's Pursestrings," he swore under his breath. "Why did I bother coming to this pitiful backwater?"
As the indignant merchant went off to find his room, Lhullbannen noticed two new travellers had arrived, an elf and a young man. At least they weren't merchants, he thought. Merchants could be worse than adventurers, sometimes. He sighed wearily and went to greet them, wringing his hands. "Hail and well met, travellers, he said. "I am Lhullbannen Orlsyr, proprieter of the Wizard's Hand. If you're here for the Hornmoot, I'm afraid it's been delayed a few days this year."
"I am Osprey of Starmantle," answered the man. He looked around while shaking Lhullbannen's hand. "Your house is busy, goodman Orlsyr."
"Aye, we are always busy this time of year, what with so many folks coming for the Hornmoot. Merchants have been arriving all day, and we're almost full to the rafters. What a time for my help to.run off, shall we say."
"Perhaps we should seek lodging elsewhere, then?"
"Nonsense! This is the only inn for miles around, although I'm sure a few of the villagers would share their roof for a night or two. I can put you up in the storeroom, if you like. It's the best I can offer."
"We've slept in worse places. And besides, after coming all this way, I'd hate to go without sampling some of the fare at the Wizard's Hand."
"Well, you're both very understanding fellows, and that's no mistake." He started to shout for Bunker, then remembered painfully that the dwarf was missing. "If you'll just follow me, I'll show you the place, and then maybe you can find a spot to sit in the common room. My wife will bring you a plate of something."
"Tell me, innkeeper," Osprey said. "Is there a temple close at hand?"
"Why, yes. I'm surprised you should ask, since it is practically right next door. The temple to Chauntea."
When the innkeeper turned to show them to their lodging, Osprey of Starmantle glanced knowingly at his elven companion, who nodded.
***
Invisibly, Neske crept down the spiral staircase leading to the lower level of the ruins. She moved cautiously, knowing that the umbrae could be anywhere. Yet, she did not fear it especially. The scepter in her hand had increased her power significantly. Aided by her magic, she was able to traverse the many traps and pitfalls of the ancient corridors. The wizardess heard nothing, yet the adventurers were easy to follow. They left many signs of their passing- burnt spiders, the hacked corpses of Maskyr's subterranean guardians, open portals.
Perhaps these adventurers weren't as incompetent as she had first thought. They had escaped Sagor's orc-soldiers easily enough. And they had come closer to finding the crown than all of Sagor's digging and excavating. If any survived, they might be able to lead her to it. The crown would mean all the difference. If she returned without it, she would bear the blame for Sagor's loss of the entire expedition. If she returned with it, Sagor would be revealed for the fool that he was, and none would mourn his passing. With the crown, even Lord Samsonavicius would have to respect her power. Perhaps taking Sagor's place was just the first step in her rise within the Cult of the Dragon.
She paused before an open door set within a niche in a long hallway. A faint, greenish glow came from within. Cautiously, Neske entered the chamber. She grimaced. It was an ancient shrine to Azuth, the Lord of Wizards. She tread cautiously. There near the altar stood a statue. Odd feature for a chapel to the Magister, she thought. Upon closer inspection, Neske's suspicions were confirmed. It was indeed a statue, but not a normal one. This was the work of a magical creature, perhaps a basilisk or cockatrice. She smiled. It was one of the adventurers, turned to stone, a girl or young woman, dressed in priestly robes. The woman's face was frozen in a stony mask of terror and fear, literally petrified as she stood. Using her sceptre, Neske cast the spell which would restore the hapless adventuress from her stony shape.
"What.what happened?"
"You were turned to stone, girl," Neske said, in as kindly a voice as she could manage. "I have restored you."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Caladnei," Neske lied. She steadied the girl and helped her take a seat on the altar. "Now, be calm. Tell me what happened."
Awareness suddenly returned to the girl's eyes, and with it terror. "You must help me! My friends are in danger!"
"Calm down I said," Neske repeated, a little more forcefully. "Now, tell me your name, girl."
"My name is Jhenta Sulpir."
"Who are your friends? Where are they from? What are you doing down here?
"Please, can't you help me? I just want to get out."
"Answer my questions, girl," Neske snapped, her patience dwindling.
Quickly, Jhenta recounted the names of her companions, and briefly told the story of all that had befallen them. "The dwarf and one of Carine's sisters are nearby. I don't know where the others are."
Neske drew a curved dagger from the sleeve of her purple robe. Jhenta eyed it curiously. "What are you going to do with that?" Neske only smiled as she plunged the knife into the woman's chest. Jhenta gasped in pain and surprise, clutching at the older woman. Neske twisted the dagger brutally, and finally Jhenta slumped to the ground, blood soaking the front of her garments. Quickly, Neske searched the woman's belongings. A little priestess of an impotent goddess, she thought, discarding Chauntea's holy symbol. Nothing worth keeping- wait, what have we here? Her pack was full of coins, which Neske quickly took, leaving the rest behind.
With a wave of her magical scepter, Neske's fitting, purple robes became the loose clerical vestments of the Goddess of Earth. Her magical scepter shifted to become the humble staff of a priestess. Her hair seemed to lighten from dark to brown, and her features softened and became younger. Even her voice changed. To all appearances, Neske became Jhenta Sulpir, young priestess of Chauntea. Once the illusion was in place, she set out down the corridor seeking the girl's companions, the ones named Andryl and Bunker.
***
Aendar whirled to fast this newest threat. He backpedaled across the chamber to stand protectively above Carine, who lay on the ground cradling her dazed sister. Drannamon moaned and stirred, but did not rise. The Guardian stood in the doorway a moment. It was manlike in shape, yet seemed incorporeal, as if it were made of shadow-stuff. Wisps of pale fog trailed in its wake as it entered. It seemed to walk like a man, yet Carine could not tell whether its feet actually touched the ground or not. The thing had a face, and although it was shrouded in darkness, Carine thought it may have been handsome, had it been a living man. It wore clothes, but they seemed half-real, like an illusion made of twilight.
"Come no further, creature," Aendar challenged. The umbrae halted. It eyed him curiously, tilting its head. Its silvery grey eyes went to the others, then back to the young nobleman. It raised a hand in greeting.
"Hail, son of princes," it said. It's voice was distant, yet there was a hint of eagerness to it. Carine thought the ethereal face almost smiled. "Long have I awaited your return." Carine and Aendar stared in amazement as the wraith-like figure bowed to Aendar and knelt before him. "Only the rightful heir to the throne of Thar could wear that crown," it said. "At last, my time here is done. The task I have been set to perform is now complete." The umbrae beamed a farewell smile and disappeared, leaving behind only a faint mist.
Carine stared at Aendar. Her face showed a mixture of awe and disgust. "What in the Nine Hells was that all about," she spat. "What other surprises do you have in store, PRINCE?"
Aendar was just as stunned as the innkeeper's daughter. He shrugged and lowered his sword. "I don't know what that thing was, or what it was talking about." He fingered his crown thoughtfully. "But whatever it was, we need to get out of here quickly."
Maskyr's Eye, 16 Flamerule, DR 1361, the Year of Maidens
Carine seethed in anger as she fought to control her temper. Aendar had found whatever it was he was looking for, a crown of some sort, among the things in Maskyr's dusty laboratory. The paladin silently tucked the jeweled thing into his pack and sat down to consult his map. Drannamon stood watchfully by the door.
Shalea had seen Aendar take the crown, and was poking around the room herself.
"Shalea," Carine snapped. "Don't touch anything. Your curiosity is going to get us into trouble. Just keep your hands to yourself until Aendar figures out where to go next." The young wizardess ignored her sister's pout, and went to examine the contents of the room for herself. Her attention was immediately drawn to the center of the room, where a large book lay open on a pedestal covered in dust. An arcane staff leaned against the wall next to it. Carine felt herself drawn towards them. Cautiously, she examined them further.
"This is Maskyr's spellbook," she exclaimed. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch the book. When nothing happened, she gingerly turned a page, then another. The book was very old, and though it appeared frail, it did not fall to dust at her careful handling. Carine was almost in awe. Every page was covered with runes, written in a tight, meticulous script. Carine could not make out what was written there, and the runes seemed to shimmer dizzyingly when she tried to read them. With this book, and sufficient time to study it, she could become a mage of great power. Never again would she have to fear men. It is men who would fear her. Carefully, Carine lifted the heavy book from its resting place.
"What are you doing?" asked Aendar, his expression dark.
Shalea looked up as well. "You tell me not to touch things," she said. "And here you are, stealing this old man's book."
Carine sent her sister a black look. "You don't know what you are doing, Shalea, you are just a child. But this," she said, pointing to the ancient book, "do you know what this is?"
"I know exactly what it is, Carine," she answered, "and that is exactly why I didn't touch it. You can't make any better use of that than I can. You're no wizard."
"I know enough," Carine said. "And with this, I can-"
"You always think you know everything!" Shalea jumped to her feet. "Well, if you can take that book, then I can take this." She grabbed Maskyr's staff.
"No!" cried Aendar and Carine in unison.
In one corner of the room stood two antique sets of armor. As if awakened from slumber, the two magical guardians stirred. With weapons raised, the enchanted warriors advanced on the intruders.
"Drannamon, to arms!" shouted Aendar, but the ranger was already moving. "Torm preserve us!"
Shalea's eyes widened in surprise, but Carine saw that her sister was not looking at the two animated suits of armor. On the other side of the room, a rusty spear rose up from the floor. Menacingly, it approached the two sisters. Whether it was wielded by some unseen warrior, or whether the spear itself were magical, they could not tell. "Carine, look out!" Shalea warned.
The ranger and the paladin each closed with one of the armored figures. The guardians moved slowly, but no blow seemed to stop them. No blood came from beneath the steel plates. Aendar swung, and the helm of his oppenent went spinning across the room, but the headless creature did not even hesitate. Drannamon and Aendar soon found themselves standing back-to-back in the dusty chamber, desperately trying to find a way to kill the animated guardians.
Carine turned to face the spear coming towards her. Holding the precious spellbook in one hand, she began the gestures of a frantic spell with the other, but the animated weapon came straight towards her. She had to dodge out of the way, ruining her casting and knocking over the pedestal with a thud. Shalea leapt towards the thing from the side. Still wielding the twisted black staff, she brought it down with both hands on the middle of the animated spear. There was a great flash of light, and a loud snapping sound. The spear broke in two pieces and fell lifeless to the ground, but Shalea also fell, stunned by the magical backlash.
Drannamon went down, felled by a terrible blow to the head by the mace- wielding suit of armor. Aendar leapt aside with an oath, and stood atop the fallen pedestal. Carine knelt beside him, desperately flipping pages in the old spellbook, looking for something she could cast. Shalea and Drannamon lay motionless on the floor. The two clanking metal warriors- one without a head- advanced slowly towards them.
Elsewhere in the room, other objects began to shake and rise up of their own accord. A collection of various things- a chair, a candlestick, a moth- eaten cloak, a brass sphere- whirled menacingly about the room. The brass sphere swooped suddenly at Carine. It struck the side of her head, but she kept her hold on Maskyr's spellbook. The candlestick floated over to Aendar, uselessly banging against the top of his helm. The paladin tried to ignore the distraction and focus his attention on the more lethal opponents. Silently, the animated cloak floated up in the air, over the paladin's head.
Carine turned page after page in the book, but nothing made sense to her. These were the spells of an archmage, and Carine was barely skilled enough to be called an apprentice. Aendar cried out as one of the enchanted armor- clad things landed a blow. Then, her heart leapt. Towards the back of Maskyr's spellbook were many blank pages, but on the very last page, there was something she could read. "To dispell the animations in the Lower Workshop, turn that which is written on the north side of the pedestal in the Crystal Room." This must have been written by Maskyr himself, she thought. But what is the Crystal Room? Carine remembered the room where they had been attacked by the darkmantles. There had been a glowing crystal there, on a pedestal. And she had read the elvish words there. She strained to remember what they were, it seemed so long ago.
Two bodies have I, both joined in one. The less I am moved, the quicker I run.
"A riddle?" Carine muttered. "We are all about to die, and I have to solve a riddle? Curse Maskyr to the Nine Hells, he must have been insane." The animated cloak was hovering above Aendar's head, and the paladin had no idea it was descending towards him. Carine looked around the room. Then, she saw a great hourglass standing forgotten and half-covered in dust in one corner of the room. With a cry, she leapt towards it. "I've got it!" Just as the cloak fell over Aendar's head, blinding him, she turned the hourglass over. With a loud crash, the two suits of armor and all the rest fell clattering to the ground.
Aendar ripped the cloak from his head, and stared at Carine in amazement. She grinned back at him. But then her look of triumph turned to a look of despair, and the paladin followed her gaze. The door to the workshop opened silently. A terrible chill descended on them both. There in the doorway stood a menacing figure of shadow and darkness. The Guardian entered the room.
***
The Sembian merchant stood in the doorway of the Wizard's Hand. He eyed Lhullbannen with obvious distaste. "What are all those riders doing out in the square, anyway? They're raising an awful dust. Just look at my boots! Is that part of the security for the Hornmoot?"
"Ah, well, several villagers have gone missing, you see. That is a search party."
"Hrm, search party you say? That's too bad. You people really could use a few extra guards around here. Last year, I was robbed twice in one night. If any of my things are stolen this time, I'll hold you personally responsible, innkeeper, and make no mistake. And now you tell me the dwarves are late? Honestly, I don't know why I bothered coming all the way here."
"Yes, well, you've nothing to fear under my roof. And the dwarves have never failed to come down. It's probably just a late snow has delayed them a bit this year. Now, if you'd just head on back to your room-"
"What, you expect me to carry my own pack? Silver stars! The Wizard's Hand is not what it used to be. Where are those lovely daughters of yours?"
A pained expression came over Lhullbannen's face. "Well, you see," he stammered. "It's my daughters that have gone missing. Them and my dwarven servant."
The Sembian sighed and shook his head as he hefted his pack. "By Waukeen's Pursestrings," he swore under his breath. "Why did I bother coming to this pitiful backwater?"
As the indignant merchant went off to find his room, Lhullbannen noticed two new travellers had arrived, an elf and a young man. At least they weren't merchants, he thought. Merchants could be worse than adventurers, sometimes. He sighed wearily and went to greet them, wringing his hands. "Hail and well met, travellers, he said. "I am Lhullbannen Orlsyr, proprieter of the Wizard's Hand. If you're here for the Hornmoot, I'm afraid it's been delayed a few days this year."
"I am Osprey of Starmantle," answered the man. He looked around while shaking Lhullbannen's hand. "Your house is busy, goodman Orlsyr."
"Aye, we are always busy this time of year, what with so many folks coming for the Hornmoot. Merchants have been arriving all day, and we're almost full to the rafters. What a time for my help to.run off, shall we say."
"Perhaps we should seek lodging elsewhere, then?"
"Nonsense! This is the only inn for miles around, although I'm sure a few of the villagers would share their roof for a night or two. I can put you up in the storeroom, if you like. It's the best I can offer."
"We've slept in worse places. And besides, after coming all this way, I'd hate to go without sampling some of the fare at the Wizard's Hand."
"Well, you're both very understanding fellows, and that's no mistake." He started to shout for Bunker, then remembered painfully that the dwarf was missing. "If you'll just follow me, I'll show you the place, and then maybe you can find a spot to sit in the common room. My wife will bring you a plate of something."
"Tell me, innkeeper," Osprey said. "Is there a temple close at hand?"
"Why, yes. I'm surprised you should ask, since it is practically right next door. The temple to Chauntea."
When the innkeeper turned to show them to their lodging, Osprey of Starmantle glanced knowingly at his elven companion, who nodded.
***
Invisibly, Neske crept down the spiral staircase leading to the lower level of the ruins. She moved cautiously, knowing that the umbrae could be anywhere. Yet, she did not fear it especially. The scepter in her hand had increased her power significantly. Aided by her magic, she was able to traverse the many traps and pitfalls of the ancient corridors. The wizardess heard nothing, yet the adventurers were easy to follow. They left many signs of their passing- burnt spiders, the hacked corpses of Maskyr's subterranean guardians, open portals.
Perhaps these adventurers weren't as incompetent as she had first thought. They had escaped Sagor's orc-soldiers easily enough. And they had come closer to finding the crown than all of Sagor's digging and excavating. If any survived, they might be able to lead her to it. The crown would mean all the difference. If she returned without it, she would bear the blame for Sagor's loss of the entire expedition. If she returned with it, Sagor would be revealed for the fool that he was, and none would mourn his passing. With the crown, even Lord Samsonavicius would have to respect her power. Perhaps taking Sagor's place was just the first step in her rise within the Cult of the Dragon.
She paused before an open door set within a niche in a long hallway. A faint, greenish glow came from within. Cautiously, Neske entered the chamber. She grimaced. It was an ancient shrine to Azuth, the Lord of Wizards. She tread cautiously. There near the altar stood a statue. Odd feature for a chapel to the Magister, she thought. Upon closer inspection, Neske's suspicions were confirmed. It was indeed a statue, but not a normal one. This was the work of a magical creature, perhaps a basilisk or cockatrice. She smiled. It was one of the adventurers, turned to stone, a girl or young woman, dressed in priestly robes. The woman's face was frozen in a stony mask of terror and fear, literally petrified as she stood. Using her sceptre, Neske cast the spell which would restore the hapless adventuress from her stony shape.
"What.what happened?"
"You were turned to stone, girl," Neske said, in as kindly a voice as she could manage. "I have restored you."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Caladnei," Neske lied. She steadied the girl and helped her take a seat on the altar. "Now, be calm. Tell me what happened."
Awareness suddenly returned to the girl's eyes, and with it terror. "You must help me! My friends are in danger!"
"Calm down I said," Neske repeated, a little more forcefully. "Now, tell me your name, girl."
"My name is Jhenta Sulpir."
"Who are your friends? Where are they from? What are you doing down here?
"Please, can't you help me? I just want to get out."
"Answer my questions, girl," Neske snapped, her patience dwindling.
Quickly, Jhenta recounted the names of her companions, and briefly told the story of all that had befallen them. "The dwarf and one of Carine's sisters are nearby. I don't know where the others are."
Neske drew a curved dagger from the sleeve of her purple robe. Jhenta eyed it curiously. "What are you going to do with that?" Neske only smiled as she plunged the knife into the woman's chest. Jhenta gasped in pain and surprise, clutching at the older woman. Neske twisted the dagger brutally, and finally Jhenta slumped to the ground, blood soaking the front of her garments. Quickly, Neske searched the woman's belongings. A little priestess of an impotent goddess, she thought, discarding Chauntea's holy symbol. Nothing worth keeping- wait, what have we here? Her pack was full of coins, which Neske quickly took, leaving the rest behind.
With a wave of her magical scepter, Neske's fitting, purple robes became the loose clerical vestments of the Goddess of Earth. Her magical scepter shifted to become the humble staff of a priestess. Her hair seemed to lighten from dark to brown, and her features softened and became younger. Even her voice changed. To all appearances, Neske became Jhenta Sulpir, young priestess of Chauntea. Once the illusion was in place, she set out down the corridor seeking the girl's companions, the ones named Andryl and Bunker.
***
Aendar whirled to fast this newest threat. He backpedaled across the chamber to stand protectively above Carine, who lay on the ground cradling her dazed sister. Drannamon moaned and stirred, but did not rise. The Guardian stood in the doorway a moment. It was manlike in shape, yet seemed incorporeal, as if it were made of shadow-stuff. Wisps of pale fog trailed in its wake as it entered. It seemed to walk like a man, yet Carine could not tell whether its feet actually touched the ground or not. The thing had a face, and although it was shrouded in darkness, Carine thought it may have been handsome, had it been a living man. It wore clothes, but they seemed half-real, like an illusion made of twilight.
"Come no further, creature," Aendar challenged. The umbrae halted. It eyed him curiously, tilting its head. Its silvery grey eyes went to the others, then back to the young nobleman. It raised a hand in greeting.
"Hail, son of princes," it said. It's voice was distant, yet there was a hint of eagerness to it. Carine thought the ethereal face almost smiled. "Long have I awaited your return." Carine and Aendar stared in amazement as the wraith-like figure bowed to Aendar and knelt before him. "Only the rightful heir to the throne of Thar could wear that crown," it said. "At last, my time here is done. The task I have been set to perform is now complete." The umbrae beamed a farewell smile and disappeared, leaving behind only a faint mist.
Carine stared at Aendar. Her face showed a mixture of awe and disgust. "What in the Nine Hells was that all about," she spat. "What other surprises do you have in store, PRINCE?"
Aendar was just as stunned as the innkeeper's daughter. He shrugged and lowered his sword. "I don't know what that thing was, or what it was talking about." He fingered his crown thoughtfully. "But whatever it was, we need to get out of here quickly."
