(A/N: Shar is a Drow Goddess. Queen of the Shadows, I believe. Jaluk means male.

Chapter 10

Those who step into the private quarters of the Valsharess are lucky to leave quickly…more so, with all their limbs. Nonetheless, Tenari found himself there only a few days after his retreat from the Undermountain. A dour-faced messenger had informed him that morning to be ready to give his report to the Valsharess by midday. Of course, news normally traveled quickly to her, through her spy network, and it was now common knowledge that the Valsharess' plans for the Undermountain had failed: Halaster had been freed, and would be wary of any other attempts to wrest control from him again.

Luckily, Tenari thought to himself as he walked down a dim hallway toward the Valsharess' audience chamber, I wasn't in charge of that little fiasco. The offending priestess' head had been placed on a pike when she had returned, and Tenari was glad he had not suffered the same fate. All the same…Messed up big. I've got about a 50 chance of getting out of this one.

He stopped before a large ironwood door, its golden handles encrusted with glittering gems. Tenari knocked tentatively, then a little harder, trying to muster up his courage.

"Enter," ordered the Valsharess curtly from behind the door, and Tenari obeyed. He was never one to trust too much in faith, but who knows? If he got out of this one alive, he just might become a cleric or something.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, lowering his eyes to the floor as he did. The Valsharess was especially strict that all males follow the standard rules (except those that she chose to bed, Tenari thought darkly) of male behavior before a superior: eyes on the ground, not speaking until spoken to, and so on. Those who forgot (since no one chose to disobey) were slowly bled to death, courtesy of her "pet devil." Tenari had never seen the Devil, though he had overheard some rumors among the camp, and he sincerely hoped he never would. Looking into the eyes of a Devil was as bad an omen as there ever could be.

So, he kept his center of vision on the stone floor below, and shuffled into the middle of the chamber. A large carving of a spider was engraved into the stone, and Tenari kneeled down in the middle of the arachnid, dutifully playing his part. If the Valsharess was going to kill him, then it was already decided. He only hoped he would be able to die well.

The Valsharess was content to let Tenari kneel in silence, watching for any signs of nervousness. Finally, when she felt that the silence had gone on long enough, she said, "Look up, Tenari. Make your report, and quickly."

Tenari craned his neck upwards, towards the Valsharess atop her throne and feeling all too conscious of the smirking faces of her Red Sisters, all around him. The Valsharess was beautiful, but no story-book beauty that shone through to those who looked for it. The Valsharess' looks and actions demanded attention, and her beauty was cruel. Her skin was smooth, black as night, with the angular features that Drow artisans adore (not that there were many such artisans). She was a lover, Tenari guessed, who would make her mate beg before receiving her. She was cunning as well, of course, how else could she have ensnared such an unwilling and powerful slave: Mephistopheles, Lord of the 8th level of the Nine Hells of Baator?

The Devil in question was chained with cords of magical energy to the wall behind her. The former Duke was seven foot tall with burning crimson eyes, clothed in a rough "vest" the Valsharess had given him, to humble him. Two horns jutted from his head, and there was a small smile on his lips despite his imprisonment, as though he knew a secret no one else did. Even captured, there was an unmistakable aura about him, malice and rage just kept in check. Tenari liked Mephistopheles just where he was; as much power as the Valsharess held over him, he believed that this devil would hold still more.

He realized he had been staring. As if to confirm that fact, the Valsharess nodded, and a whip cracked from behind him, striking him squarely in the small of his back. He jumped, but didn't dare scream; screaming would be his death-toll.

"Your report!" the Valsharess cried, and Tenari bit back another scream, as waves of pain radiated outward from his bruise. He sat up, painfully, and began in a tight, controlled voice.

"Great Valsharess, our raiding party on the Yawning Portal Inn was a success. An ally of ours lured five of the Inn's strongest warriors into the Undermountain. They charged into an ambush, and were scattered about the dungeon." (This was not strictly true; he had no idea who was the strongest in the Inn. The trick was to know to how much truth to mix with fiction.)

The Valsharess fixed him with a steely glare, which Tenari held. Perhaps it was his self-preservation that kept the lie out of his eyes, but his heart plummeted when the Valsharess coolly asked, "Mephistopheles, is this fool lying to me?"

His eyes flicked towards the devil for a fraction of a second, a sign the Valsharess did not miss. His hands clenched, balling into fists, but he kept his head high. This was it. There would be no escape for him, but still he wondered: could this truly be the end, the clearing at the end of the path for him? Had Death, on his Pale Horse, caught him at last?

"No, Great Valsharess." Mephistopheles answered, and again, Tenari glanced at him, this time out of relief, not fear. Mephistopheles gave him the tiniest of winks, one red eyes eclipsing shut for a split-second, then it was gone, as the Valsharess turned on her throne to look at him open-mouthed. Everyone in the room had seen through his lie, but the Devil had validated him just the same. Believe it or not, he owed Mephistopheles one. The question was: how much was that favor?

He continued, trying to ignore the suspicious looks shot at him from around the room. "Unfortunately, the bald-headed monk you wanted captured escaped from us on the first level. And, well, the Undermountain is unpredictable. We pursued him, but he must have ended up on a different level."

"He shouldn't have escaped at all!" the Valsharess exclaimed, "And what's more!"- she paused, as if mentally replaying his words. "Wait a moment. Bald headed?"

"Yes…" he replied slowly, but already that sinking feeling was coming back, stronger than ever.

"You fool!" she bellowed, and almost right away, another whip lashed out, this time connecting with his ribs. He buckled, biting his lips in pain, and tasting blood. The whips were barbed, and enchanted so that each lash cut deep, despite his armor. His side began to pulse almost immediately. "The one I want dead is not dead; he has a full head of hair! Young! Scar on his face!"

"Great Valsharess, I,-" Tenari stammered, his side beginning to leak blood, "I was not told this! My orders were to kill the monk, and I saw only one monk!" The monk at the top of the hill…was that Baldy's student? Must be…

"Enough of your excuses," the Valsharess said curtly, regaining her composure, which could only spell his doom. She nodded to someone behind him, and Tenari gritted his teeth, bracing for the killing blow. He even hoped the killing blow would come, instead of being slowly tortured to death.

"Wait a moment, Great Valsharess," said Mephistopheles, and the Red Sister behind Tenari hesitated, the whip held in her cocked arm frozen. The Valsharess (for her true name had been forgotten, both for those under her and even to herself) fired an angry glare at the Devil behind her. No one ever dared to interrupt her in anything. If she allowed her prisoner that power, what kind of message would that send? Nonetheless…

"Yes, O Dread Mephistopheles?" she asked, her voice dripping with fake sweetness and barely concealing her anger.

"I was wondering," Mephistopheles continued, enjoying himself, "if there might not be a better way to handle this…situation?"

"Oh?" the Valsharess replied, her hand beginning to creep towards the whip hanging at her belt. "What do you suggest?"

"Allow him to make up for his mistake. He's as good as dead anyhow, why not let him die in your service?" Mephistopheles proposed. "He cannot, of course, defeat the monk…But he may be able to wound him, poison him, or mark him for other assassins of your choosing. And, if, by some freak chance, he does succeed, then all the better. The threat to your dominion over the Underdark is gone, and the Drow captain finds redemption."

"Hmmm…" the Valsharess mused, looking down at Tenari, who was still kneeling on the floor before her. "Why not? I care not how you die. Since you must perish, why not do it serving me? And, should you succeed Tenari," the Valsharess promised, "then this mistake will be forgotten, and I will promote you to my major. But if you try to escape from me, and abandon this task, then I promise a lifetime of suffering. I will have Mephistopheles cut you in dozen different places, and let you bleed to death, just long enough for you to beg my pardon."

" Y-yes Valsharess," Tenari stammered, though he barely heard her. He was hardly able to believe his luck. What is this demon's plan? Tenari wondered. That's twice he's saved me.

Yes, "said" an alien voice in his head. And you wondered what the price was, didn't you? Simple.

Tenari almost screamed aloud in his shock. Someone had invaded his mind! He eyes flicked wildly about the room, until they came to rest on Mephistopheles, who was staring steadily at him.

"Out of my sight, jaluk!" the Valharess ordered, and Tenari stood on legs that felt like jelly. As he staggered out of the room, his thoughts a blur in shock and pain, the voice spoke again. It was a cruel voice, and it resounded in his head, blotting out all other thoughts. Kill the bald-headed monk. Leave the young one.

Could he communicate using his thoughts? He knew almost nothing about telepathy, but it was worth a shot. He "aimed" his thoughts at Mephistopheles: But the Valsharess said-

I know what she said! the voice thundered angrily, and Tenari winced in pain. Receiving his thoughts were much harder than sending him, and he guessed it was because his brain was not meant for such telepathy. But you will not obey. Kill the old monk, the one named Trey, and all debts are repaid.

The door slammed behind him, and the voice, or its presence, or whatever, disappeared with it. He had escaped with his life, only to be set on another path. Another chance for revenge. Last time pays for all.

Trey awoke with a start, jerking up into a sitting position. Dream images drifted hazily through his mind, making less and less sense, even as he scratched his head. He couldn't remember exactly what he had dreamt about, only that it concerned Lith My'athar's defenses. He had seen the outer wall blown into pieces by a great light. Obviously not a good omen. He was genuinely disturbed, because that dream might be prophetic, as his one before, and he resolved to ask the Seer about it.

"I saw the camp walls being destroyed…" he said aloud, slowly, trying to articulate dream-images. As usual, the lucidity and fluidness that dreams had during sleep seemed to break down under reality's harsh light. "I saw the Relic… the Seer, and the Valsharess, and.." He ran a hand across his pate. There was so much more to the dream, but already it was fading, just dream-smoke in the light of day. How long does a prophetic dream (if that's what it was) stay in your memory?

That's the consequences for messing in with this. Get involved with a Goddess, and this is what you get, he thought, as he speedily got dressed and left his room. Alain's door was locked, and he guessed he had already left. This was good. Alain had shown some discomfort with his task last night, but when it came to business, he was always there to help. Since he's doing his job…

"Better get started on mine," Trey said aloud, as he stepped out of the door and into the city.

"I hate this job," Alain muttered, scowling darkly into the glassy water a few feet below him. He closed his eyes, gripping the ship's railing quite tightly, and tried to imagine wide, grassy plains and rolling hills, dotted with flowers over the landscape.

"Seasick?" Valen asked, hiding the amusement in his voice but not quite his eyes.

"River-sick," Alain replied gloomily, leaning his chin in his cupped hands.

The two had left earlier that morning, before most of the city was awake. Valen had talked of islands out in the Underdark, along the Dark River, and of one isle in particular, which was home to a group of sentient golems. Alain, already fascinated by the idea of a river, (an underground river, how many people get to see that?) was further intrigued by the idea of golems? It was strange, of this adventure seemed to shadow the last. He still bore the scars of his encounter with the ten fallen golems of Undrentide.

"Golems are difficult opponents," Valen had said earlier, noting Alain's expression. "It will be even tougher for you, since you seem to have no weapons."

"Don't you worry about that," Alain had replied, but Valen couldn't help it. Surely this boy couldn't be so powerful as to break golems with his bare hands, could he? There was more than stone to shatter, there was also the magic binding them together. Still… he must be that confident for a reason.

Cavallas, the one (and only) inhabitant of Lith My'athar to own a boat, was happy to take them out to the island. He demanded no price, which was strange, but what was even more unsettling was the (man?woman?) himselfself. Alain could sense his aura, so Cavallas was at least alive. But, no one had any idea what race Cavallas was, or even where he came from. He called himself the "master of the Dark River", perhaps he was spawned from the River itself? Valen would only shake his head and say no more. In truth, he knew no more than Alain.

The boat, a small sturdy vessel made from some unknown material (it looked like wood, but how could that be?) cut easily through the ebony waters. Bats shrieked as they passed, and at one point, a large, dark grey fish leapt out from the currents. It seemed to hang in the air for one full second, and Alain saw that the fish was blind, and a large mouth lined with teeth. Then the fish disappeared back into the water, leaving him to wonder if he had really saw what he thought he saw.

His stomach lurched painfully, and his grip on the ship railing tightened.

"Try not to vomit," Valen remarked dryly, "It riles up the fish."

Alain groaned loudly, leaning over the side. "A half-hour into things, and we're off to a great start."

"So this is Golem Island," Alain said, walking toward the ruins of what could only be the Golem's home. He could almost smell the age in the wind, it was a musty scent of aged parchment and stale air.

"Look…" Valen said, resigning himself to trying to talk some sense into Alain. "I'll tell you again: Golems are not to be trifled with. They know no mercy, or compassion, or feeling of any kind. If you let your guard down, they'll kill you, and quick." Even I won't be able to stop them in time. But if he's our savior… he won't need too much help, will he?

"Uh-huh," Alain replied, barely listening as he pushed the door of the ruins open, listening for any tell-tale signs of a trap. "Keep your voice low, Valen. I'd like to avoid too many traps today."

Valen gritted his teeth as he followed the monk down the steps into the ruins, forcing away his anger with an effort. Alain had dismissed his warning completely. Was it out of over-confidence, or was their dislike for each other mutual?

The first room of the ruins must have been used as a kind of waiting area in the past, a room where any friends of the Maker could sit and relax while waiting. Now the once-comfortable chairs and benches were covered in grime. Several were broken, and the reason for the damage wasn't too far away: Duergar corpses littered the floor, twisted into new and interesting shapes, each face an essay in horror.

"Damn…" Alain muttered, as he stepped over the body of one such unlucky Duergar. The crossbow in his hands was broken, and his chest had a hole the size of a cannonball punched through it.

See what I mean now? Valen thought, and said aloud, "No resurrection spell can put him together again. Take my meaning?"

Alain said nothing, instead pressing against one of the stone walls, just near the first hallway. Valen loosened his heavy flail from his belt and followed suit, ears straining for any sounds of the monster golem that had left behind the carnage they saw. Instead of rumbling footsteps, the two heard lighter, crunching feet. Alain whipped around the corner, Valen right behind him, expecting some new terror… but what they saw was quite the opposite. They saw a flesh golem, pieced together from the skin of other creatures, preferably trolls or ogres. But as most flesh golems are around seven feet tall, this golem was three feet tall, a midget among giants, small even for a Halfling. The golem was stomping down the corridor, towards the lifeless steel of another, larger iron golem when they had leapt from their hiding place. The golem shrieked, a high, warbling cry quite unlike what they had expected, and turned to run down the hall away from them. Valen recovered from his shock and began to give chase, but Alain was quicker, flicking three shurikens into the air the way a card-shark might deal a new hand. The projectiles burst into flame as they flew, and struck home in the golem's spine. But before they could see the effect of the attack, the tiny golem was gone. Vanished into thin air. A small pop sound accompanied it; the sound of air filling the space where the golem had once stood.

"…What was that?" Alain asked, picking up his shurikens from the floor. He inspected them, and showed Valen the bits of golem flesh still splashed along their points.

"I'm not sure. Not a fighting golem, that's for sure." Valen replied. "A scout perhaps?"

"Maybe. We should keep moving. I didn't like the sound of that-" Alain began, when a closer crunching sound interrupted him. A much LARGER sound.

They turned around as one, not knowing what to expect. The iron golem that the flesh golem had been approaching was climbing to its feet. It was twelve feet tall, a monster of creaking hinges and groaning bolts. Its small, head was rotating woodenly on its hinge, revealing a featureless face of pale metal to them. It "looked" from side to side,(though it had no eyes) and seemed to stop on them. Alain was reminded by this gesture of a curious bird which might cock its head to one side while observing some oddity. The two warriors froze, unsure if they had been spotted or not. The golem took a step forward, groaning as it did, and pointed one large, club-like arm at them.

"Identify!" the golem blared, though they saw no opening of any kind where such a loud sound could issue. Alain shot Valen a quick, dumb-founded look, before stepping forward hesitantly.

"We are…friends of your… creator," Alain replied, his voice a pale whisper compared to the golem. Valen tensed, expecting the worse. If the ruse failed, the golem would certainly attack, or even worse, call for help. He wanted to be able to break the machine before it could do either.

Unseen gears and bolts clicked inside the golem for almost a minute. Finally, the golem said "State names. Warning! Failure to comply will result in extreme measures!"

Alain quickly shot back, "I am Magnus Firebuckle. This," he said, gesturing to Valen behind him, "is Rufus VII, Duke of Oldtree." Valen groaned aloud, wishing he could break the boy instead of the golem. What was he thinking, joking around like that?

More clicks and whirs from inside the golem. Valen's eyes were locked on the automaton's legs. Two steps were all it would take for him to reach the golem, and one hard swing should be able to remove the golem's extremities. He hoped. Alain, on the other hand, was almost relaxed.

There was a short pause, and then, "Cleared: Magnus. Cleared: Rufus. Welcome to the home of Alsigard, the Maker. Proceed to the lower levels, down the hall to your left. The golem's voice to echo strangely, reverberating down the hallways, until it seemed all around them. When the echoes finally died away, the golem turned awkwardly, grinding a Duergar body into the floor in the process, and stomped down another hallway. Valen turned to look at Alain, his icy blue eyes widened.

"Magnus Firebuckle!" he said incredulously, shaking his head. "I cannot believe that worked."

"Yeah, that was definitely taking a risk, huh?" Alain replied, exhaling for what seemed like the first time in three minutes.

"Yes. And what was the reason for it?"

"Well, I figured that these golems are so old, whatever function they might have served is probably a little rusty. Plus, we're also the first non-Duergar they have seen in a while," Alain said, jerking his head towards the flattened corpse.

"Well… All the same, I don't think any of these golems will help us fight the Valsharess," Valen said, stepping over the body of a stone golem as they walked down the left hallway.

"Which means, that they won't be helping her, either. So then, I guess we go in deeper."

"Yes," Valen answered. "That's what we'll do. And if golems are all we find, I'll be surprised."

They walked in silence for a bit, each lost in their own thoughts. They heard the sounds of phantom footsteps down other hallways, and twice they passed a golem in an adjacent hallway, but were not attacked. Alain guessed that when the iron golem had "cleared" them, it had put them temporarily on a "guest list" of sorts on the first floor.

"But I don't know how long it will last, or if it applies to every other golem here," Alain warned. "So be on your guard."

Valen found it extremely ironic that Alain's warning came right after he had done something so abysmally stupid, but decided not to comment. Instead, he followed a different venue, "I want to know: what is it that makes you so special?"

"Wish I knew," Alain joked.

Valen didn't even crack a smile. Instead, he grew even more stern, his eyes boring into him. "It's no joking matter. The Seer is entrusting our fate into your hands. This entire camp's fate, and I will not see them destroyed for nothing."

Alain frowned, his brow furrowing. The truth was, he really didn't know why the Seer had made such a fuss over him. If anyone was going to save the camp, it would be Trey, who was his superior in nearly all respects. The fact that Trey agreed with the Seer confused him even more. But he couldn't tell Valen all that. So he stalled.

"What was your role in all this, anyway?" Alain asked, honestly interested.

Was? Valen thought. Am I to be cast out so quickly? "I am a soldier, just a warrior. I doubt you'll find one better."

"Come on, give. Surely you had a bigger part than that. Otherwise, you wouldn't care as much," Alain said softly.

"I've seen my share of battle, that's all. What the Seer didn't tell you is that this is essentially our last stand. Our supplies can't last forever, and the Valsharess' army is three times our size."

"Wow," Alain said, stunned. "I didn't know things were so bad."

"Which is why," Valen pressed, "that it's so important that you understand the weight on your shoulders. What makes you so capable of this?"

"Yes," Alain said, beginning to understand Valen's motives, "why should I be so important, when you've been here for so long?"

Valen remained silent, though Alain had just spoken the unsaid question in his heart.

"There's no reason," Alain said at last. "None at all. So why don't you help me?"

Again, Valen was quiet, but for a different reason: shock. Out of all the responses he predicted, he did not expect that one.

"Well, why not?" Alain asked, as if Valen refused. "You said it yourself. You've been here long enough, and I haven't. If you care so much about the Seer's safety, then prove it."

Valen gritted his teeth. How could he question his dedication for the Seer? The Seer was his salvation! Then again, he didn't know that… "I don't need to prove it. And I already planned on helping you."

"Great. Then it's settled," Alain said brightly, and walked down the steps to the lower level. Humans. There's a reason why no one comes to this plane. Valen thought, as he followed him.

The lower level of the Maker's dungeon was even darker than the first. There were less Duergar bodies here, and more golem corpses. Valen kneeled down, taking a closer look at one of the bodies.

"See somebody you know?" Alain said with a straight face.

"This is a mythril golem," Valen commented, ignoring Alain. He shifted his weight, leaning to his left. "And here is a flesh golem."

Alain bent down, taking a closer look, his humor forgotten. He pointed to the flesh golem, which was missing an arm. "What do you think did this?" There was a flash of bone showing beneath the golem's discolored skin. Whatever had killed this golem (if golems had "lives" to take) had been immensely strong.

"The same thing that did this," Valen said grimly, his lips pressed into a thin line. Alain followed his finger to a decapitated mythril golem leaning against the far wall. "This behind the work of golems," he continued. "This is slaughter, killing for the sake of killing."

"Well," Alain said, standing and wiping some grime of his shirt. "We better make sure that whoever did this can't be used against us, right?"

"You can't be serious!" Valen cried. "You don't want to hunt-"

"Shh!" Alain interrupted, putting a finger to his lips. "I hear something."

From a little farther down the corridor, they could hear voices. The two crept down the hallway, just enough so that they could make out what was being said, but not the speakers.

This is what they heard:

A deeper voice: "Peace, friends, peace! Come now? Did we not once call each other brother?"

A higher voice, yet somehow menacing: "That time can return, brother, as long as you renounce that fool Ferron and return with us. Then, perhaps, that time can return.

Deep voice, after a long pause: "I will not, my brother. The Maker is long gone, he will not return. Ferron can give us all our freedom, even Aghaaz."

High voice, enraged: "You will all pay for your lack of faith when he returns! He will, he must! Then we will be uplifted above all others, while you are cast aside, as mere trifles!"

Deep voice: "That will not happen, because we will be long gone. Please brother, join with us; we need the Power Source if we are to move on. Aghaaz is wrong."

High voice: "Aghaaz is right, and he would not give you a second chance. Neither will I!"

The higher voice and his compatriots voiced a war cry, and the sounds of battle echoed down the hallway. Valen, ever the warrior, noticed there were no sounds of the clash of steel or ring of swords, but flat, thudding sounds. Alain jumped to his feet, ready to intervene, but Valen held him back.

"Wait," he ordered, and Alain ceased his struggling. The thudding sounds ended quickly after it had begun. One side outnumbered the other, Valen guessed.

High voice: "Serves you right, unbelievers!"

Valen nodded to Alain, and the two of them stopped from out of the relative safety of the hallway into the open. The speaker was a tall, particularly ugly flesh golem. The golem had either been one of less perfect examples of craftsmanship from the Maker's workshop, or time had not been kind. The golem's face was a fading yellowish-brown, the color of dirty parchment. His eyes were two different colors, green and blue, and the blue was higher up on his face. His nose crooked, jutting out too far to the left, and, at the moment, there was a wild, self-righteous look in his eyes that seemed strangely familiar. It took Alain a few moments to place it: it was the look of a self-righteous "prophet" preaching his word. He was standing over the corpse of three mythril golems, and as they entered, he spat on one of the bodies, leaving a large reddish trail down their back.

"Intruders!" the prophet screeched, and three of the flesh golems shambled forward to attack. The prophet and another golem fled down a hallway to the right. Alain rushed forward to engage the golems, Valen a little behind him. He was curious, having heard so much about the monk way of combat. Also, if this was to be their savior, surely there was to be a test of strength, wasn't there.

Alain proved the stories true. All three of the golems attacked at once, clumsy as they were, flanking the boy. Alain parried all three of their attacks, ducking a swinging fist from the first, blocking a hard right from the second, and dodging a lumbering charge from the third. They were golems, which meant that they were hardy, but Alain had Ki on his side, and it was at that moment Valen stepped in.

Valen stuck a foot out, tripping the charging golem which had missed Alain (though it hurt his foot to do so), and swung hard at it's head, an overhand swing which ended its existence. Alain slipped behind another golem, dodging yet another slow punch, and kicked low, knocking the golem's legs out from under him. The golem fell to its feet, sprawled out on the floor. Alain swung down hard, and the flesh golem's head burst easily beneath his fist, like a rotting fruit. There was no time to gag though, as the last golem kicked at his ribs. He rolled to the side, kneeling down on one leg, and swung in one quick chop to its kneecap. He felt the bone snap underneath his hand, thinking That can't be just my Ki… these golems are so old, I guess they break easy. Valen finished the golem off, bashing its head in with a sure swing from his flail.

Alain stood, wiping his fist clean of golem goo with an expression of disgust. Usually, he was loathe to kill any sentient being, but these golems were not strictly alive, and he knew of no other way to stop them.

"Come on. Let's follow them," Valen said, and then ran down the left corridor without waiting for a response. Alain followed closely behind, his neck hairs prickling. They were being watched.

"So that was my dream, Seer. Do you have any ideas what it could mean?" Trey asked. He was inside the former temple of Lloth, which seemed empty. Trey had no doubt, however, that there had to be some kind of bodyguards, hidden in the shadows. The Seer was basically defenseless after all, and there were a lot of shadows.

"Is this a recurring dream, Trey, or was this your first time?" the Seer questioned, drumming her fingers in unison on the table. They were sitting in one of the side rooms of the Temple, at Trey's request. It wouldn't be good if news leaked out that a supposed "hero" was getting the jitters over strange dreams. He was plenty disliked already, not a single Drow had looked at him during his walk through the city.

"This was the first time."

"Any symbols you didn't understand?"

"..No." This wasn't strictly true. Trey had seen the Relic of the Reaper being held by a scaly hand, but that was too complicated. If he told the Seer, she would ask where he had found such a thing, and he couldn't answer that. He honestly didn't know.

"I would say ignore it," the Seer began slowly, "because you have no history for prophecy of any kind, correct." When Trey nodded, she continued, "but, you did accurately describe the outer wall without ever seeing it with your own eyes. Perhaps sending you that dream of the Valsharess has given you some short-term version of prophecy. My visions are sent by my goddess, yours…I know not."

"Hmmm.." Trey grunted, thinking hard. Had he ever met someone with the power and the motives for warning him in his dreams? He thought not. If you met people with those kinds of skills, you tended to remember them.

"Have you looked about the camp yet?" the Seer asked, changing the subject.

"Oh, yes." Trey replied, snapping out of his reverie. "I spoke with Commander Imloth and the House Mae'vir sergeant, along with Osyrr, the gate guard. Why are your men being trained in two different places? Isn't that a little inefficient?" Trey guessed that the two factions of Drow, Eilistraee followers and those with House Mae'vir, didn't play together too well. There were too many differences between them for the soldiers to train together. Still, Trey knew one thing could unite them, if only for a short while: the shadow of hanging doom.

"Matron Myrune of House Mae'vir refuses to have any more to do with us than she needs. She ruled one of the Great House of Menzoberranzen. Now she plays host to a rag-tag group of the Resistance. It must be horrible for her," the Seer sighed, though there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Can she be trusted?" Trey asked. The main factor that had allowed the Drow to survive, thrive in the Underdark was their keen sense of self-preservation (also called cowardice, betrayal, and back-stabbing in other circles). "If the Valsharess could make her a deal, would she take it?"

"Oh, I doubt it," the Seer said, though she sounded a little doubtful. "House Mae'vir was one of the first in Menzoberranzen to challenge the Valsharess, and one of the first to fall. The Valsharess would never attempt to make a deal, and Mae'vir would never expect. One of the few times hubris works in our favor."

"It seems logical, but… I think I'll pay her a visit," said Trey slowly, recalling the Mae'vir compound in his mind. It was a large, spire-like building with two grim-faced guards standing watch. They had refused him entry before he had even asked, and it seemed a little suspicious for the Matron Myrune to have little to do with matters of her own survival.

"Drow politics is a dangerous machine," the Seer warned. "Myrune has one daughter left, an ambitious Drow named Zesyrr. One of them may too true to pull you into a power struggle, to assassinate the other. You and Alain are the only non-drow here, besides Valen. They will try to tempt you-"

"Don't worry," Trey said abruptly, standing up. "Before victory comes temptation. But I am a monk; not gold, nor fame, nor lust will sway me. Trust my judgment in this, Seer. I will do what I can."

"Let the Lady Eilistraee watch you in your travels," the Seer said, bowing before him. "Farewell."

A/N: I didn't like how Mephistopheles is portrayed in the game: an unwilling prisoner whose manipulating is not seen until the very end. So, excuse me if you didn't like my taking liberties with his characters. Still the basic Meph, cold and calculating, the snake behind the throne.

My apologies if area transitions are a bit unclear. I haven't figured out how best show these. I usually place equal signs as markers in my own work, but it doesn't show on fanfiction. Any ideas?

Til next time.