In truth, Phendrana wasn't in complete seclusion – he was permitted to seek counsel from two people. The first of these was Lux, the curious Shadovar boy who served as head housekeeper in Villa Tareia, and whom Phendrana was beginning to suspect was far more than he appeared; though he seemed to be a young man of no more than twelve there were plenty of recent incidents to suggest this may not be the case. In the absence of those six extra voices plaguing his every thought Phendrana had become more observant than he had ever been, and it seemed to him that there was far too much wisdom in Lux's piercing green eyes where there ought to have been innocence, possibly even naivety. It was also apparent in the way that he spoke – he was wizened like a learned scholar and commanded an impressive vocabulary for one who seemed so young. Often of late Phendrana found himself immersed in psychological or theological conversations with the green-eyed Shadovar that left him brooding for hours – which was just as well, for the doppelganger was actively avoiding sleep just so that he wouldn't succumb to his strange dreams.
"I wonder," Phendrana had said one day when Lux had arrived to deliver books to him – in his confinement he had taken to studying the books in Villa Tareia's extensive library. "Why do we dream? Are they the last coherent thoughts we entertain before we enter our slumber? Are they fantastical, fictional tales we weave when our unconscious mind is restless? Or are they glimpses of things to come, fragments of the future in store for us?"
Lux had been sitting on the floor with his back against the front of Phendrana's great ebony desk at the time, his legs crossed and a great weathered tome entitled The Crown-Against-Scepter Wars cradled upon his lap; his response had been immediate and insightful, and had chilled Phendrana to the bone. "I once dreamt that your hearthrug caught fire at high moonrise and engulfed everything in flame, for I had been thinking over my end of the day chores at the time and fell asleep uncertain whether I had tamed the flames before retiring. Another time I dreamt that I had sprouted griffon wings and flew to the great deserts of Calimshan, where I slew a creature that seemed to be half-minotaur and half-harpy to my eyes. And one night while you were away plundering Castle Tethyr I dreamt of you falling down through the dark and wandering aimlessly through lightless, earthen tunnels beneath the foundations of the castle." He had turned a page idly then, hardly lifting his gaze from what he read, finishing, "Can our dreams not be all of these things you have mentioned?"
Phendrana hadn't answered, simply dropped his gaze back down to his own book and wondered what manner of child spoke in such a manner. Still he never felt inclined to complain, or to send Lux away – he was honest to a fault and served Phendrana well, and until the doppelganger's evaluations had been completed and he was invited back to court Lux was one of his only two companions.
His other companion was the head of the Determinist's Guild, Third Prince Lamorak Tanthul.
While Phendrana sought Lux's company to stimulate his thoughts he often found himself far more relaxed, relieved even, to visit the guild at the end of the Determining day, for he pursued Lamorak for personal conversation. Their meetings had been sanctioned by the High Prince, for it was now Lamorak's responsibility to monitor Phendrana's rate of adaptation to his new life as a shade; at the outset they had spoken little, Phendrana still shell-shocked in the wake of the traumatic events leading up to his premature transformation, but after his first few uncertain visits he found Lamorak to be fine company. The Third Prince kept Phendrana's health and mental state the center of their affairs and was more often than not very businesslike in his conduct, but on rare occasions Phendrana almost felt that he could name the prince among his friends. This was equal parts comforting and confusing for him – having someone to talk to about all manner of things was refreshing, but if he remained in Lamorak's presence for too long he found himself yearning for Brennus's company.
On this night he found Lamorak alone in the Determinist's Guild, as was always the case – thus far High Prince Telamont seemed inclined to keep Phendrana out of the eye of the general public while he dealt with the fallout of Brennus's snap decisions in Castle Tethyr. Lamorak was at his desk in his private office, surrounded as always by towering stacks of parchment and scribbling away furiously. As Phendrana approached his eyes slipped to the words flowing from the tip of the prince's quill, mesmerized by the sprawling, slightly cramped hand that was in such stark contrast to Brennus's tidy, elegant script – he was always spellbound by how twelve men could look so physically similar, yet have such diverse personalities and characteristics.
Lamorak tossed his quill down upon his document with a flourish the moment he noted Phendrana's approach, and in response to the doppelganger's sheepish expression he cocked an eyebrow, saying, "You shadow walked to the wrong location again?"
Phendrana shrugged. "Possibly." When Lamorak's look grew sour, he decided to elaborate. "I shadow walked to the Church, but no one saw me as I appeared on the steeple and it is quite high off the ground."
Lamorak couldn't help the small smile that crept over his face at that, rocking his chair forward and taking his feet as he rounded the desk; he stood taller than Phendrana by four inches or so and possessed the keen intelligence of a scholar in his eyes, a scribe's long and nimble fingers, and a spellcaster's lean build. "Well, I suppose that's an improvement from your inadvertent trip to the veserab stables last week," he joked, cuffing the doppelganger on the shoulder good-naturedly, but his smile vanished just as easily to be replaced by a look of mild concern. "But really, what do you find is your difficulty as you are trying to travel from one location to the next? Do you find yourself lost in the shadow? Can you not see the gaps between dimensions?"
The doppelganger's eyes slipped to the floor, studying his supple black boots through the ever-present veil of shadows clinging protectively close to his body. How embarrassing to be the only shade in the history of Thultanthar to have difficulty navigating the Shadow Realm! "I confess, the Plane of Shadow is most confusing to me. I am uncertain how the rest of you find your way so easily, for I am baffled by it." He had no trouble whatsoever entering or leaving the Plane of Shadow – he had been dragged along by enough of the High Prince's progeny by now that he recognized the miniscule gaps between dimensions as easily as he distinguished between colors – but still the Shadow Plane seemed a limitless expanse of formless shadows and fathomless darkness. How was one to find one's way through such a place?
The Determinist Prime was nodding along respectfully while Phendrana spoke, and when he had finished Lamorak gestured with one hand at nothing in particular – Phendrana knew well enough by now that this was a silent reference to the shadowy world that existed in tandem with the Material Plane, like two sides of the same coin. "Let us have one more lesson on this matter before I examine you today – it cannot be long before the High Prince invites you back to court, and it would not do for you to lose your way when he is watching!"
"No," said Phendrana with a rueful little smile, "it wouldn't." He beckoned for Lamorak to lead the way and followed along behind him, uttering a small sigh of resignation as they went – would he ever truly feel a part of their society, or was he doomed forever to be an outcast?
They stood beside one another, Phendrana's eyes flitting somewhat uncertainly from one shadow to the next and Lamorak noting well the obvious doubt in the doppelganger's expression. He had vowed to help Phendrana overcome his self-conscious tendencies where the shadow was concerned, and had given the High Prince his word that when next the doppelganger was summoned to court he would be polished in his newfound abilities and assured of all he was capable of – for Phendrana to appear before the Twelve Princes of Shade seeming so uncertain would simply no do. With a start Lamorak came to the realization that perhaps he was teaching all the correct lessons in a format that was not necessarily beneficial to Phendrana, and with that in mind he spoke.
"Thus far I have been instructing you to be mindful of your surroundings," Lamorak began, waving one hand to indicate the numerous formless shadows that constituted their current environment. "I have stressed upon you the importance of seeing beyond the darkness and glimpsing the secrets that the shadows work so hard to mask in this place – and I see now that I was wrong to tell you such things." Phendrana glanced up at him curiously, protuberant silver eyes confused and expectant within his shadow-swathed face, and Lamorak continued. "Your strength is not in your sight but in your unique ability to perceive everything around you using your mental influence – it is that trait that I would have you utilize now. Do not look with your eyes – as a matter of fact I think you might do better if you closed them, and saw nothing at all."
Phendrana did as he was told and closed his eyes, and almost immediately felt the shift in his own perspective as his mind worked to compensate for the sudden loss of his vision; the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and every synapse of his consciousness seemed suddenly ultra-defined, and he could feel his considerable mental influence stretching out into the space around him, studying his surroundings, scanning the area for potential threats. He could feel the unintelligible thoughts of lesser shadow creatures firing not so far away, but he was assured of his own strength as well as the nigh-limitless power of the shadow prince standing at his side and knew that such weak-willed creatures wouldn't trouble them.
Lamorak's voice reached him from seemingly very far away. "Good. Now that you see nothing, I want you to feel your surroundings with your mind, if you will – that is, push your mental influence away from yourself and sense the conflicting auras of the places you might go. You know the enclave well – you know that the Shadow Mages College feels differently than the Church of Shar might, and you know that places like the Determinist's Guild and the Hall of the Arts Martial have nothing in common and are thus easily distinguished from one another. Will all of this in mind, take a moment to acclimate yourself to this new way of thinking. Feel your way around the city with your mind. Feel the mental patterns of others, and use those to guide your way."
It was an entirely new way of thinking and the logic may have been lost on anyone else, but to a highly cerebral creature such as Phendrana this was a perfectly simple line of thought. Where before he had been struggling to tell one shadow from the next using his eyes he now felt a sudden surging of confidence just feeling his way about the Shadow Realm, linking easily to the thought patterns of those he was most familiar with and using those as waypoints. With barely an effort he was able to sense the locations of half a dozen of the High Prince's court in the blink of an eye.
"Where will I go?" he breathed wondrously, focusing effortlessly upon what felt like pinpricks of light within the darkness, feeling as though the whole of the world had been laid at his feet.
"Take us to the Hall of the Arts Martial," Lamorak suggested, his voiced pitched into a careful undertone so as not to shatter Phendrana's concentration. "I suspect it may be easy for you to distinguish… Take care that we are not seen, if you will."
Phendrana nodded once to show that he understood before shifting his stance and turning, and keeping his eyes stubbornly closed he put one foot determinedly in front of the other and led the way through the Plane of Shadow. It was easy to pretend that he was still a part of the Material Plane when he could not see the thick curtains of shadow obscuring everything from sight, and if he focused his thoughts upon a singular goal he found that the Shadow Realm was not so intimidating. Lamorak followed soundlessly along in his wake, noting well the change in the doppelganger's posture and grinning at Phendrana's back – for all the side effects that had plagued his sudden transformation from mortal to shade Phendrana had been gifted with one priceless ability, and that was a keen edge to his already brilliant mind that was nothing less than awe-inspiring to witness.
The doppelganger's feet carried him forward surely and swiftly despite his lack of vision, and when he led the way from the Shadow Realm and back into the Material Plane Lamorak followed suit; when Phendrana opened his eyes he found he had brought them into the bowels of the grand melee chamber, where the Doubles Combat took place once every three lunar cycles. Unable to keep the grin from his face he glanced over his shoulder at Lamorak, to find that the prince was smiling back at him encouragingly.
"Most impressive," the Determinist Prime congratulated, and Phendrana's chest swelled with pride – it was the first time he had successfully shadow walked to a specific location without first losing his way. "Again, and quicker now… Let us say the observation platform of Villa Tareia, the grand balcony of the Palace Most High, and then back to my office in the guild."
The gleam in Phendrana's eye was a sure indicator that he was up to the task; he closed his eyes again, though Lamorak was certain he needn't have bothered, and they slipped back into the land of the shadow again. He moved quickly, so quickly that the Third Prince had to sacrifice a mote of his dignity and hurry to keep up, and in no time at all they were passing between dimensions again.
They landed effortlessly upon the observation platform; Phendrana opened his eyes briefly, glancing with a smirk at the stars winking through the veil of shadows surrounding the enclave's extreme boundaries, before shutting them again and shifting dimensions.
When their feet touched the balcony of the Palace Most High with its breathtaking view of all the city below them, Phendrana didn't even bother opening his eyes.
The moment they found themselves back in Lamorak's office in the Determinist's Guild the prince burst into laughter, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as Phendrana took his familiar seat in front of the desk. "Had I known you would be so receptive to such an unorthodox method, I might have mentioned it to you days ago and saved us valuable time!"
"Had I known it was possible to navigate the Plane of Shadow in such a way, I would have tried it myself and saved you the trouble," Phendrana chuckled. "Perhaps there is still hope that I might be a true shade after all."
Lamorak did not miss the note of melancholy with which Phendrana made this observation; he seated himself back in his comfortable high-backed desk chair and surveyed the doppelganger with sympathy in his eyes, wishing he knew what to say. He had been born the son of the High Prince of the very last city of the fabled Netherese Imperium – he had never known adversity such as this. He had watched Hadrhune and Soleil both struggle to adjust to foreign surroundings, but his expertise only extended that far. "We all experienced an adjustment period when we offered our souls up for shadow," he explained at last, "and that time varies in length from person to person. Perhaps yours is meant to be longer than all of ours because your powers are so great."
"Or it is because I am ill suited for this life after all," Phendrana supposed darkly, crossing his arms, and Lamorak's expression soured again in the face of the doppelganger's continued stubbornness.
"And I suppose you think we are all able to navigate the Realm of Shadow using only our minds?" he remarked sarcastically. "No, Phendrana, we must all travel with our eyes always open or risk losing our way and never returning – only you have accomplished such a feat. Mind of the Most High indeed." While Phendrana sat there with his gaze fixed upon the floor again Lamorak retrieved a different stack of documents, notes he had made on Phendrana's physical and mental state and observations he had taken while in the doppelganger's presence over the past several weeks; these he straightened meticulously before taking up his quill again and dipping the tip in the open inkwell near his elbow, and tapping off a droplet of excess ink he cleared his throat with an air of professionalism. "Now, Phendrana, tell me of your last twenty four hours. Have you been practicing your telekinesis?"
Prior to his transformation Phendrana had commanded an impressive capacity for all manner of magics that required mastery of the mind; he belonged to an elite few of the class of mindmaster, whose mental facilities enabled them to utilize spells from many different types of sorcery – the cerebrex, the mindspy, and the psionist had always been his favorites. Since becoming a shade he had discovered that his mental prowess had improved exponentially – one of his new abilities was the power of telekinesis, which he enjoyed using very much in everyday life. If Lux was being particularly surly about his studies Phendrana would simply glance at the book the poor Shadovar boy was holding and steal it from his grasp with a thought, and on the days when Lamorak was in a particularly good mood he would watch with amusement while the doppelganger rearranged every personal effect on his desk. In recent weeks Lamorak had been testing this ability, giving Phendrana a new weight class each time they met and asking the doppelganger to relocate it – how far could he move it? Could he keep it held aloft without effort, or did it put a strain on his mind? If he could keep it aloft, how long before it fell to the ground? These lessons were among Phendrana's favorites, for they often involved a certain amount of mischief and this was a welcome distraction from all the ill that had befallen him since his return to the enclave.
"Yes," he told the Determinist Prime proudly, for his lesson earlier that day had yielded progress. "I was able to stack the books Lux brought me using only my telekinesis, and afterward I was able to transport the stack from the dining table to the desk and back several times."
Lamorak was scribbling furiously, his silver eyes darting across the parchment as he struck up a line of further questioning. "How far of a distance would you say it is from the table to the desk?"
Phendrana turned his gaze to the ceiling, considering. "Thirty feet? Thirty five?"
"And how many times did you transport the books to and from?"
"Sixteen." It was clear Phendrana had anticipated this question. "I may have done more, but I began to feel fatigued and Lux prompted me to stop."
"Good." Lamorak paused to dip his quill into the inkwell again. "The last time I reported upon your progress the Most High requested that you do not stretch your mind beyond the limits of its endurance until we have a better grasp on what you are capable of. Now tell me about the books. How many did you stack?"
"Nine. Any higher and the stack would have become precarious."
"Two higher than last time," Lamorak praised with a hard-won smile, and Phendrana felt pride swell within him again. If there was one thing he had learned in his dealings with the Third Prince, it was that Lamorak was not easily impressed – being the Determinist Prime he had witnessed firsthand the talents of every single shade the High Prince had ever produced, including his own brothers. "And how heavy would you say the books were?"
Phendrana sighed. He hadn't thought to weigh them, and in hindsight that seemed foolish indeed. "Two of them were almanacs. Four others were books on various eras in the Netherese Imperium penned by Second Prince Rivalen. The other three were some of Lux's favorite tales, all historical, and all lengthy."
"So quite heavy, then." Lamorak looked up. "You mentioned becoming fatigued. When you put the books down did they fall from the influence of your mind, or were you able to keep control and guide them to the place of your choosing?"
"I kept control." Phendrana recalled that moment most clearly, for he had been particularly pleased with it. "I guided the books back into Lux's arms, and when I was certain he was prepared to support them I wrenched my influence away."
Lamorak finished penning his musings in silence; Phendrana did not feel compelled to fill it, and he rarely did. He was grateful simply to be in another's company, and the opportunity to share his progress with someone was oddly liberating. When he had finished Lamorak laid the parchment aside to allow the ink to dry before selecting another; Phendrana could see that the Third Prince had given the document a title, but it was otherwise blank. A new lesson, perhaps? "I wonder if it is time we began to explore the possibility of levitation, as your telekinesis is advancing at a startling rate."
Phendrana blinked. "Levitation?"
The Third Prince tucked his quill behind one ear and propped his elbows upon the desk, steepling his fingers together and observing the doppelganger over his fingertips. "It is the next logical step where your telekinesis is concerned. I have produced some figures based on the rate of your progress and by my calculations you will be prying statues out of the fountain in The Circle and hurling them through the air before the week is out." Phendrana swallowed hard, momentarily intimidated by his own potential, but Lamorak pressed on as though nothing was amiss. "Your first lesson will be simple – just try to get your feet off the ground. I expect you to have something to report on that when we meet tomorrow."
Plucking the quill from behind his ear Lamorak fell upon his parchment again, notating all that they had discussed; Phendrana watched in silence as words covered the sheaf, worrying a further matter in his mind, but ever-perceptive Lamorak missed nothing – Phendrana occasionally wondered if the Third Prince possessed a certain mastery over the mind himself, but had never let on. "Why don't you tell me about the dreams. You've had one again, haven't you?"
The doppelganger's eyes dropped directly to the floor again, his silence speaking volumes; Lamorak dropped his quill again and sat up a little straighter, reading details from the unnerved expression that Phendrana now wore. The dreams had started a few weeks ago – he had carefully documented every word of Phendrana's testimonies concerning these unusual occurrences, listening rapturously, unable to keep himself from feeling fascinated by the progression of Phendrana's dreams. At first Phendrana had seemed morbidly entranced by them – Lamorak even had it on authority from Lux that the doppelganger often retired at a very early hour to pursue them – but the expression chiseled into his face now was not curiosity but open fear. He shuffled his documents judiciously, retrieving his notes on the progression of the dreams, and brought his quill to bear yet again.
The silence between them stretched with no sign of being broken, until Lamorak could bear it no more. "Is it the same?" he pressed gently, doing his best not to frighten the doppelganger. "The hallway, the fire flickering in the wall sconce, the dead guards?" When Phendrana nodded, he continued. "Are you still opening the door?"
Phendrana blanched. He had been all too eager to open the door at the end of the dark hallway before, but now that he knew what was on the other side he wished he never had. "Yes," he answered in a reserved voice, seeming smaller where he sat.
The quill scratched away at the surface of the parchment. "And do you still find yourself in someone's bedchamber?" The private quarters Phendrana inevitably found himself in were oddly familiar to Lamorak, with their somber décor, their spacious interior, and their magnificent canopied four-poster; he was almost certain he knew whose room it was, but he didn't want to put the thought into Phendrana's mind unbidden. In response to Phendrana's slight nod he prodded, "Is the man in the bed still sleeping?"
"Yes," Phendrana whispered in a tremulous voice, "but there is someone else in the room now that I didn't see before."
The quill fell from Lamorak's fingers – he snatched it back up almost immediately, but Phendrana had seen him falter and regarded him now with wide, fearful eyes. "Do you recognize this person?" Lamorak inquired diplomatically in an attempt to regain some of his composure, pressing the tip of the quill with excessive force against the parchment, and Phendrana shook his head.
"No – it is too dark in the room to be certain, but the eyes are unfamiliar to me." Phendrana's eyes were vacant and somehow haunted as he recalled. "Not the metallic colors of you and your brothers… The color of a well-cut garnet, magenta, or fuchsia. Never have I seen eyes of such a strange hue."
Lamorak's eyes were slits of silver moonlight within his shadow-swathed face. "Do you suspect this person was not a shade?"
The doppelganger nodded along fervently. "He was not cloaked in shadow and his hair was white as snow; he had a small blade in his hand that was luminous with some manner of foreign enchantment. It shone bright and cold as a star, but even by its light I could see little else of his face."
"Did he do anything?" Lamorak could feel his mouth going dry even as he spoke. "Did he speak?"
"He did not speak," Phendrana confirmed. "He acted as though I was not there, though I was standing at the slumbering man's bedside by that time – I suspect he could not see me, though I was hardly making an effort to conceal myself from him. He was… focused. His attention was not on me."
Something about the doppelganger's tone of voice sent a chill ripping almost violently down Lamorak's spine as he dutifully penned Phendrana's recollections; the moment he was caught up he glanced up from his work, entranced by the tale despite the thrill of trepidation racing through his veins. His own voice was oddly quiet, as though he was afraid someone might overhear despite the fact that they were alone. "What did he do, Phendrana?"
"He cut the throat of the man sleeping," Phendrana said in a rush, as though he couldn't keep the words from bursting forth any longer. Against his better judgment he stared the Determinist Prime in the eye and finished, "I believe it is the Most High who was killed in my dream. In fact, I am not certain these are dreams at all – they do not feel as dreams often do. This is lifelike, prince. I can feel the chill upon my skin when I stand in the hallway. I can smell the blood pooled on the floor at my feet when I come across the guards. I can hear the creak of the door hinges when I enter the bedchamber. I can hear the High Prince breathing as he slumbers." Gathering the last shred of his courage he pressed onward, certain he was about to ruin any last semblance of credibility he still possessed, and said, "I believe these events will come to pass, and soon. I fear that the High Prince is in danger."
Numbly Lamorak replaced his quill, working to keep his face neutral. "Who else knows of this?"
"No one," Phendrana answered immediately. "I have not even told Lux of my dreams."
Lamorak knew that there was truth to the doppelganger's words – Lux had already confessed to as much. Besides, he trusted Phendrana – his service to the High Prince was selfless, his intentions were always pure, and he had no reason to lie. But what to do? Phendrana's mental state had been in question since his untimely transformation; despite the fact that his abilities grew exponentially stronger with each passing day it could hardly be said that his judgment was sound at this stage. His memories had returned to him in full, that much was true, but the physical trauma wrecked by the angel of decay and his resulting extensive restoration had left his mind flawed – that much could be evidenced by engaging the doppelganger in simple conversation. And what of these dreams? Were they delusions that Phendrana's mind had concocted as a kind of morbid coping mechanism? Were they the result of the doppelganger's too-active mind, with no basis in day-to-day life? Or were they something more, as Phendrana so emphatically insisted – glimpses of a dark future for all of Thultanthar? Was he paranoid, as High Prince Telamont had suspected from the outset, or was he prophetic as Lamorak had secretly come to believe?
Suspecting that his gaze had grown distant as he brooded Lamorak sat up a little straighter and focused upon Phendrana with effort; the doppelganger was still staring back at him with those unnervingly large eyes, and the Third Prince could feel his mental influence probing the air for clues. Lamorak could hardly fault him for that. It was only natural, he supposed, for Phendrana to crave answers to such disturbing events.
"I will speak with the High Prince on your behalf," Lamorak assured him at last, taking up his quill one last time and jotting down the last of his musings while he worked to regain the rest of his composure. When he felt that he had mastered himself he locked eyes with Phendrana again, a pang of sympathy radiating through his chest to see the lost and forlorn expression the mindmaster now wore. "In the meantime, I implore you – try not to concern yourself so much. I suspect much of the reason you find yourself plagued by such dreams is because of your heightened level of anxiety; few things in life affect our demeanors quite as much as the emotions we feel, and I daresay you have not felt at ease since before you departed the enclave in search of the armory beneath Castle Tethyr."
Phendrana's eyes fell upon his hands, which Lamorak was certain were twisting uncertainly in his lap. "I try," he admitted in a small voice, suddenly seeming more childlike than the Third Prince had ever seen him before, "but I confess… Between my isolation and the amount of questions with no answers I find myself left with, it is increasingly difficult to keep myself at ease."
The sympathy burned ever brighter within his chest – unconsciously Lamorak touched his fingers to his sternum, a crease forming in his brow, and in response to the doppelganger's questioning gaze he propelled himself out of his seat and beckoned Phendrana to do the same. "I will see what I can do to alleviate your concerns, and to convince the High Prince to re-integrate you into society. There is still much we do not know concerning your condition, it is true, but I see no reason why you should remain in seclusion. I suspect it would do much for your state of mind to walk among us again." When Phendrana drew closer Lamorak clapped one hand companionably down upon his shoulder, finishing, "The hour grows late, I fear, and I must pen the last of your recollections before I retire – you would do well to return to Villa Tareia and find some rest, for I suspect your attempts to master beginning levitation will cause you some fatigue on the morrow. We will talk tomorrow night, and in the meantime be assured that I will do all that I can for you."
Phendrana nodded, a wash of gratitude flooding through his chest, and even cracked a small smile. "Thank you, Prince. I know it is not my place to ask you for anything… I am grateful for your attentiveness."
"You are a great asset to our city," Lamorak reminded him. "I will continue to ensure that you are treated as such. Now go."
Upon returning to Villa Tareia he made himself stand outside that familiar door, glaring at the grooves in its expertly-hewn surface and silently cursing the man residing within. Phendrana had heard or seen nothing of Twelfth Prince Brennus Tanthul since the Most High had requested he remain in relative seclusion – all that he had gleaned was at Lux's expense, and the poor Shadovar boy was adverse to sharing very much on the subject.
"Have you seen him?" Phendrana had asked on one particularly uneventful day, when the book he had chosen to read had proven to be less than fascinating.
Lux had visibly blanched and kept his eyes carefully fixed upon the page he had been reading, though his eyes hardly moved. "No, I haven't."
"Come now, you are the head of housekeeping," Phendrana had reasoned, his voice disarming. "Surely you have glimpsed his face, or heard of his comings and goings in passing."
"I do not attend him," Lux had stammered uncomfortably, his fingers trembling slightly as he turned a page and continued fake-reading. "The kitchen staff brings him meals, but he requires nothing of me."
Phendrana hadn't believed this claim for a moment. "Nothing at all?"
"Nothing at all."
"Then what are you attending to when you are not gracing me with your presence?" the doppelganger had prodded dryly, his voice heavy with sarcasm, and Lux had heaved a sigh of defeat.
"Lord Phendrana, please – I see him little, for he prefers to be left alone. I hear nothing of his comings and goings, for his movements are even more restricted than your own. He is not permitted to leave his private quarters for any reason, and he is not welcome in the High Prince's court. Now please, I beg of you, question me no more. It is my only aspiration to serve you, and I am not at liberty to discuss these matters – I have said far too much already."
The panic in Lux's eyes had prompted Phendrana to hold his tongue, though from that day forward he had found he possessed more questions than before. Why was Brennus being confined? Why had he been banished from court? Was it on account of him, or had he committed some other offense? Phendrana couldn't help feeling responsible, which by then was a most unwelcome emotion. He didn't want to feel beholden to the Twelfth Prince in any way. He didn't want to feel sympathy for the youngest prince's situation. He had abandoned Phendrana in his time of greatest need, ignored his cries and scorned his affections – for all of these things, Phendrana was determined to hate him.
Yet still he stood there, memorizing the individual grains in the door, probing the space on the other side with his mental influence. He could feel Brennus's presence lingering quietly on the other side, steadfastly avoiding his own, and though Phendrana felt assured enough of his own abilities that he knew he could infiltrate the loremaster's mind if he so chose he decided against it. Nothing could be gained from seeking counsel from someone who wanted to be left to his own devices, he knew, though that did not stop him from imparting his own thoughts and opinions without expecting any sort of reply, verbal or otherwise.
Our predicaments are not as different as you may believe, he thought clearly, knowing that his intended recipient would hear well enough. I do not presume to know what has happened to you, but still I confess myself disappointed. I would have thought you would sooner confide in me than keep your silence after all we have shared. Things are happening now that may have dire consequences for us all, and still you ignore my presence? What could I have possibly done to make you hate me so?
He heard no words in reply, only emotions – guilt, anger, and regret foremost among these – but Phendrana did not allow himself to linger any longer. He knew that the more time he spent outside the prince's door the harder it would be to pry himself away from it in the end.
Lux was waiting for him when he opened the door to his private quarters, sitting in his familiar place on the floor with his back against the front of Phendrana's wide study desk and a book propped upon his crossed legs; he looked up expectantly when the doppelganger admitted himself, his green eyes wide and inquisitive as he slipped a bookmark between the pages and hastened to his feet. "Welcome back, Lord Phendrana – "
"Please," Phendrana interrupted wearily, pouring himself a glass of water from the carafe waiting on the dining table and taking a grateful swig, "do not use such formalities in my presence. You know I am not fond of them."
"Forgive me," Lux apologized hurriedly. "Was your lesson with Prince Lamorak productive?"
"It was quite enlightening," Phendrana answered vaguely, kicking off his boots haphazardly just to the right of the door, and suddenly he was exhausted beyond measure. "I find that I am not feeling conversational – might we talk tomorrow? I need some time to myself."
Lux nodded thoughtfully, though he knew better than to pry – normally Phendrana was quite open and glad for company. Bending he retrieved his book and tucked it beneath his arm, saying, "Very well. I have not stoked a fire for you – should you like one before I retire?"
Phendrana was chilled all the way to the bone, but his desire for solitude outweighed his physical discomfort. "No, thank you."
"Then I will leave you," said Lux softly. "Good evening." And he dismissed himself without another word.
Phendrana found he hadn't the patience to build a fire in the hearth, and instead retreated to the washroom and filled the tub with water so hot he suspected it would scald his skin. It wasn't until he was soaking in the steaming bath that he allowed his head to droop and his mind to wander.
If he was prepared to be perfectly honest with himself, it was the lack of companionship that he so despised. He would serve the High Prince uncomplainingly and had resolved not to discuss his concerns for fear of seeming ungrateful, but he detested his isolation. The opportunity to further explore his budding capabilities was time well spent, and he enjoyed both his lessons with Prince Lamorak and his conversations with Lux, but he had entertained visions of what his life might be like when he became a shade and his designs had been nothing akin to the reality. He longed to move about as he pleased – attend council sessions again, study shadow magic at the College, train further in martial arts at the Hall – and he desired little more than to surround himself with people. In his seclusion he had few distractions – if he could only keep himself busy, he might have more success keeping his mind off Brennus.
He supposed this time had been useful in that regard – if Brennus no longer wanted anything to do with him, Phendrana thought it best if they did not see one another. He didn't think he could bear it if the loremaster spoke ill of him, or if the prince's bronze eyes regarded him with hatred. How might he react to be in his presence now that circumstances had so changed? Phendrana had no way of knowing for certain – his own mood was so mercurial that he could only speculate. Would he lash out as a lover scorned? Would he keep his silence and ignore the other man entirely, a means of safeguarding those shredded pieces of his heart? Would he dissolve into tears?
Not for the first time he wondered if Third Prince Lamorak might prove to be a friend when Phendrana eventually took up his seat upon the Most High's council or if their arrangement was strictly a business one. Lamorak had seemed almost detached when first they had started meeting for lessons but was now more relaxed and personable – though of course, he spoke little of court life and disclosed nothing personal. It would be good to see one friendly face when he returned – few things in court life were more vital than allies on any issue, and at the moment he felt as though he could depend on no one.
By that time the water had grown tepid so he freshened it, having not quite chased the chill off his skin, and this time when he lay his head back it was both his mind and his consciousness that wandered.
A gloved hand upon his shoulder roused him from Reverie, and he allowed his vision a moment to shift into the normal spectrum before he sat up. He had allowed himself to seek rest in the barracks of Bregan D'aerthe for the days' events had been most taxing; what now could anyone possibly need him for?
The pale green faerie fire that limned the corners of the ceiling cast enough illumination for him to make out the figure crouched over him – perpetually-hooded Xuntath Oblodra, whose unusual white eyes sent a chill coursing unbidden down his spine. The psionist sat back when he saw that he was coherent, and wasting no time his hands flashed in the near-darkness. It is time.
Time? Mourntrin Auvryndar's fingers were uncharacteristically stiff as he walked them through his response – by the Gods, he was exhausted. Time for what?
Xuntath's eyes were speculative and alive with possibilities. I have spoken with the Baenre priestess Quartana… It seems that perhaps she is not as delusional as we assumed. She sought me out, spoke to me with her mind. If she is to be believed, she has communed with the Spider Queen.
Mourn lurched upright, bringing himself eye level with his accomplice. Has she now? He uttered a bemused chuckle, but softly, so as not to draw the attentions of any of their fellow slumbering mercenaries. And what wisdom has the goddess bestowed upon her?
That you shall be the first among us to test the diligence of Thultanthar. Mourn opened his mouth, presumably to let loose a string of incredulous protests, but Xuntath's fingers flashed again insistently. I am commanded to tell you to depart at once to the place where you and I spoke privately this afternoon. Bring only what you will require to complete the goddess' work, and speak to no one of your business.
And what am I expected to find there? Mourn pressed, a sneer of utmost skepticism quirking up one corner of his mouth.
Quartana assured me that the Spider Queen would provide. The psionist slowed the movement of his hands, introspective now, and Mourn found that he was grateful for that. Xuntath wasn't particularly devout – Lolth had abandoned his once-great house and left him an orphan with an uncertain future – and to see him so suddenly beholden to their higher power was distinctly unnerving. I know that you have your doubts – and with good reason, I feel – but are you not curious? The Baenre is convinced that she is about Lolth's work. Have you any idea what it will mean for us, her accomplices, if she is?
And if she isn't? Mourn felt compelled to ask. I am taking this risk, and not you. Will Lolth provide for me, a homeless, inconsequential male, as I journey away from this safe haven and into the den of our soon-to-be-nemeses alone?
If she does not, Xuntath reminded sagely, are you not capable of providing for yourself?
That, at least, was logic Mourntrin Auvryndar could not deny. Yes, he was the sole survivor of his fallen house. Yes, he had braved the untold horrors that lurked within the Underdark. Yes, he was a man of undeniable prestige within an ancient and holy order. He would not fear the pompous archwizards of Netheril.
So he bid Xuntath Oblodra farewell and set out into the lightless tunnels of the Underdark alone, armed with his enchanted kukri and cloaked in the protection of his piwafwi. Whether by the will of some higher power or no, he was not accosted as he made his way through those treacherous corridors – indeed it seemed almost too quiet, too uneventful, as though something had spooked even the most hellish of creatures that normally dwelt within.
When he arrived in the chamber with the subterranean pool, blinking in the almost harsh light that the phosphorescent lichen emanated, he was surprised by what awaited him; hovering a few inches off the eerily still surface of the center of the lake was a shimmering white mist that Mourn was certain hadn't been there earlier in the day. Ever cautious, Mourn hovered in the wide yawning entrance to the chamber and studied the curious fog, pondering just what purpose it could serve. It wasn't a trick of the light coming off the lichen and it wasn't a reflection off the water's surface – was this what Quartana Baenre had meant when she had told Xuntath that the Spider Queen would provide?
He prowled through the cavern toward the water's edge, his steps light and soundless, and found that there seemed to be an opaque white sheen muddling the usually clear water; upon further inspection he found that it had actually iced over, and that it was just thick enough to bear his weight. He trod carefully across the lake on the frozen film, acutely aware of the dozens of tiny fissures that appeared upon its surface with every step he took and wondering if this was Quartana's way of testing his faith, until he had drawn level with the softly undulating white cloud. Pausing there, considering all that the mist might entail, Mourn began to believe.
He closed the distance, allowing the white mist to envelop him, and felt as though he was being spirited far away.
When next he became aware of his surroundings and the mist had cleared away, Mourn found himself standing in a sparsely-lit, vacant hallway he did not recognize; the floor was black marble adorned with a plush royal purple velvet carpet runner, extending the length of the corridor and disappearing around each bend, and black obsidian wall sconces burned deep violet magical flames at regular intervals. The walls were a generic off-white color with the illusion of grooves carved intricately into them; Mourn ran his hand appreciatively over the surface as he slunk closer to the nearest wall, flattening himself out defensively and listening. He was alone in enemy territory now – it would not do for him to be caught off guard.
As he peeked around the corner to his left he could just make out the nearly-motionless forms of four shades in battle raiment, standing two-to-a-side flanking a door that was the end of the hall, and as he stood there wondering what he was meant to do he felt a finger of icy chill seep into his mind, heralding the presence of an entity unknown.
Let it begin with their great monarch. Let us see how long their civilization lasts in the absence of the venerable Lord Shadow.
Mourntrin Auvryndar groped at his hip for the familiar hilt of his enchanted kukri, and when the voice of his goddess faded from his mind he found he knew without asking who was on the other side of the door.
Phendrana hadn't realized he'd nodded off until he jerked violently awake, uncertain just how much time had passed and momentarily confused as to where he was. The candle he had lit had burned down to the wick, and the water he'd drawn for his bath was cool enough that he trembled as his senses returned to him. With his left hand he groped for the towel he had dropped carelessly near the sunken edge of the porcelain tub, and with his right hand he cradled his face as his thoughts raced. It wasn't just the uncomfortable temperature of the water that had incited a chill upon his skin – his forehead was beaded with cold sweat and his hands shook uncontrollably, the aftereffects of something dark he had glimpsed while he slept but couldn't recall. The tighter he clung to the notion that there was something lingering on the edge of his awareness that was vital for him to remember the more intangible the idea became, until he was left with only the insistent intuitive urge that something was very, very wrong.
"Lux?" he called tentatively, but he bit back any other words he might have said almost immediately when he heard how that singular syllable hit the air; it was soft and muffled, as though something he couldn't see was preventing his voice from projecting any further than the room he was in, and the feeling of dread pooling in his stomach intensified. Hoisting himself out of the tub he wrapped the towel around his narrow waist and padded stealthily back into his private quarters, uncertain just what he was hiding from but knowing he would do well to keep quiet all the same.
The hour was late, but the bone-deep chill and the stomach-churning fear gripping him would make sleep impossible. Phendrana considered stoking a roaring fire to chase the cold from his extremities – and was struck with a crippling realization.
Somewhere in this very moment, the events of those dreams that had been plaguing him for weeks were beginning to unfold. He had no proof, no way to rationalize such a completely groundless theory, and yet the moment the notion presented itself Phendrana knew it to be true.
His body moved of its own accord as he flew about the room, wrestling into his luminous white-adamantine armor and groping for his belt of weapons. It occurred to him as he outfitted himself that he had not yet accepted a weapon from the High Prince's armory, customary of one befitting his station, and hoped against hope that the elven thinblade and kukri he possessed would be enough to thwart any threat that he might encounter. He paused only long enough to retrieve his favored magical effects – the silver circlet set with an enchanted jade stone, and a pair of rings he was seldom without – and then he was standing in the center of his private chambers without even an inkling of where to go next, or even what he meant to do.
For the first time Phendrana doubted himself, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he considered how best to proceed. He had been forbidden to come and go as he pleased by express command of Most High Telamont, and given the High Prince's uncanny ability to be privy to all that occurred within his domain the doppelganger wasn't foolish enough to believe even for a moment that his foray into the city would escape Telamont's notice. That being said, was it worth the risk to defy his sovereign knowing that there would inevitably be consequences for his actions? He didn't feel the High Prince was justified in keeping Phendrana confined for circumstances that were beyond his control, but did that really give Phendrana the right to release himself?
Fleetingly the mindmaster considered returning to the Determinists Guild and seeking out Third Prince Lamorak, who was surely still pondering one of the thousands of documents piled high upon his desk, but he dashed that idea almost immediately. Surely Lamorak would be opposed to Phendrana skulking around the enclave without permission, and if the encounter became confrontational Phendrana might miss his only opportunity to intervene. No, this time he had no one to rely upon but himself.
But where to go? What to do? Phendrana's intuition could be correct, but he had only the fragments of dreams and the sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach to guide his steps – and the longer he deliberated, the more likely it was that someone's life would end before he could arrive.
The answer struck him so suddenly that he exhaled sharply as though he had been physically struck. With a single lesson, Lamorak had changed Phendrana's entire perspective on shadow walking… If he were to stop seeking the destination with his eyes and use his mind to guide his steps, could it not lead him to the source of the disturbance? He knew that he was grasping desperately at straws, but it was his only hope; hesitantly, his fear of the potential repercussions warring with his desire to do good, Phendrana passed into a miniscule rift between dimensions and shifted into the Realm of Shadow.
He kept his eyes firmly closed, allowing his body to become acclimated with the perpetual silence of his unfamiliar surroundings and the soft, cool sensation of shadows caressing his skin – there would be plenty of time to train his eyes to distinguish one shadow from the next at a later date, he knew, and right now he couldn't shake the feeling that he had very little time to act. Phendrana reached deep into himself, focusing on the clearest images from his dreams and willing them into existence, concentrating on the dread clogging his veins like poison and hoping he could use it to guide his way. And abruptly his feet were moving, propelling him through the black void toward some unknown destination, and though he was unaware of it he parted crowds of lesser shadow creatures who did not dare impede his progress as he passed.
Sensing he had reached his desired destination before he glimpsed anything Phendrana returned to the Material Plane, and the sight that greeted him made his stomach roil with anger and revulsion.
He was standing in a hallway that was somehow familiar to him, despite the fact that he had never set foot within it until this very moment; the floor was black marble lined with black velvet, plush and elegant, with eggshell walls that seemed both pleasing to the eye yet somehow clinical. Purely on impulse he glanced up and to his right to where he knew there would be an obsidian wall sconce flickering with magical violet flames; the soft illumination distorted as he studied it, alternately flaring hotly and sputtering as though in danger of burning itself out, and the unpredictable undulations distorted his own shadow strangely at his feet. The chill that had settled upon his skin since even before his bath increased; instinctively he clenched his hands into fists in a futile attempt to warm his icy fingertips, but to no avail.
Feeling sick, knowing what he would find, Phendrana willed himself to look down and study the four twisted and mutilated bodies of the Shadovar guards that had been slaughtered outside of the ominous door standing just ten feet away; he took note of the death blows that had been dealt, identical slashes to the throat that were still bleeding gouts of shadow essence onto the black velvet carpet runner, and knew at once that he was dealing with no ordinary foe. Shades could be hurt, certainly, but a singular blow – even one considered fatal to mortal creatures – wouldn't be enough to kill them, for their accelerated regeneration often rendered such attacks altogether useless. Phendrana glanced all around, his ears pricked for any sound, but all was eerily silent. It meant that the guards had been taken completely at unawares, and that they hadn't likely been able to raise an alarm before they had been fallen upon. He suspected he hadn't the time to do so, either.
Carefully, so as not to disturb the scene, Phendrana stepped gingerly over the corpses of the collapsed guards and advanced upon the door he had seen in his dreams; it was expertly-hewn ebony, its craftsmanship as exquisite as it had seemed in the doppelganger's mind's eye, and he ran one hand gently along its surface almost reverently. It stood slightly ajar – as he had known it would be – and steeling himself for what he might find he eased it open and admitted himself.
The room was mostly dark, chambers that were spacious and lavish beyond measure, hinting at the identity of its occupant with its grandeur; a wide fireplace yawned in the center of the wall to his left, the last embers of a once-roaring fire shining crimson in the hearth, and the floors were carpeted in the royal hue of violet that the Netherese royal family were so found of. There was a grand floor-to-ceiling window at the opposite side of the room, black gossamer curtains rippling gently in the breeze rolling over the sweeping balcony on the other side, and not five yards from the curtain stood the great canopied four-poster bed Phendrana had glimpsed in his most recent dream. His eyes raked the bed but its occupant was still and wreathed in perpetual shadow; the doppelganger felt a knife of panic rip through his insides, terrified that he had been too late, but when he reached out with his mental influence he could feel the serene thought patterns that suggested the bed's occupant was only sleeping. That was not what concerned him.
What concerned him was the other set of mental patterns, a presence he was altogether unfamiliar with whose malicious intent was almost crippling.
Phendrana's eyes snapped up from the bed to the gently-wafting curtains, just as a dark figure drifted out of the clutches of the black gossamer; Phendrana couldn't make out his features, for the soft illumination creeping through the curtains cast his face in shadow, but the eyes within the intruder's face were a luminous shade of fuchsia. He stood over the canopied bed, transfixed by its slumbering occupant, and with a start Phendrana realized there was a sleek black blade with an ethereal blue sheen clutched in his hand.
The fuchsia-eyed stranger, oblivious to Phendrana's presence, held the blade aloft.
Something like an overprotective rage seared in the doppelganger's chest then, and unthinkingly he thrust one hand out in the attacker's direction; it was the first time since his transformation that Phendrana had acted in anger or with the intent to cause harm, and the effects almost frightened him. The pure telekinetic energy that pulsed from the palm of his hand didn't just force the intruder backward – it shredded the graceful canopy shrouding the great four-poster, it tore the black gossamer from the steel curtain rod and sent it rippling out the window on a breath of wind, it cracked the black marble balcony and splintered the ebony guardrail and drove the intruder back with such force that he shattered the cracked guardrail when he was thrown back against it, and subsequently bowled over the edge to fall toward the ground below.
He sensed movement on his left and cut his eyes to the bed, where its occupant had risen and stood now watching him, and Phendrana met his eyes only because he hadn't the capacity to look away. Perhaps High Prince Telamont read the severity of the situation in the doppelganger's face, or perhaps he even glimpsed Phendrana's innocence in the depths of his eyes – regardless the Most High asked no questions and made no move to restrain him, for which Phendrana was grateful. He knew that if the High Prince had commanded him to answer for his actions he would have stayed and done so, and the real guilty party would have ample time to escape.
As it was, Phendrana could only find the words to say, "With the greatest possible respect, I must go now and explain myself later."
Without pausing to await a reply he was off like a shot, sprinting the length of the bedchamber to the cracked marble balcony, and when he reached the splintered guardrail he leapt from the precipice without a thought for the consequences; behind him he thought he heard the High Prince call someone's name, but his attention was divided and the name escaped him. He was careening for the ground from the topmost landing of the Palace Most High, easily eight stories from the palace gardens below, and hadn't once considered how he might survive such a fall.
The answer came to him in the form of words Third Prince Lamorak had said just hours before: "Just try to get your feet off the ground."
Well, Phendrana thought smugly, mission accomplished.
His mind had little difficulty rationalizing the force he needed to slow his descent – really, in the end, it was a slight variation on the same telekinesis he had been honing for the past few weeks. The only difference he could see was that he was lifting himself with the power of his own mind, rather than some other object. By that logic he simply pillowed his mental influence beneath his own feet, guiding his fall until his velocity slowed noticeably, and by the time he reached the ground he had only to step off the mental force pooled beneath him - and just like that he was setting foot upon the well-tended grass of the palace gardens.
Phendrana made a mental note to tell Lamorak that he had completed his lesson the next spare moment that presented itself, and then he was off and running.
The palace gardens, fortunately, were wide and spacious; most shrubberies were shorter than he and meticulously well-trimmed, and Phendrana knew that if the would-be assassin had chosen to linger here in hiding he would have very few places to do so. The most likely prospects were the great flowering trees to the rear of the palace, and the magnificent fountain that was the centerpiece of the rear-facing garden; he didn't dare enter the Shadow Realm to take up the pursuit and risk losing his quarry while he struggled to keep his bearings, and so he continued the pursuit on foot in the hopes that he could track the intruder using his mind.
Rounding the corner into the rear-facing gardens at a run Phendrana delved deep into his mind and thrust that focus away from himself, seeking the thought patterns of anyone nearby and hoping to use those thoughts to his advantage – it was lucky he did so in such a timely manner, for the act saved his life then.
He felt the threatening presence near at hand before he glimpsed its owner with his own eyes, and instinctively Phendrana twisted his body defensively; the obsidian dagger with the ghostly blue glow slashed out from within the shadows slanting down from one of the castle's great parapets, faster than the doppelganger had anticipated, and though he dodged aside he only succeeded in making the blow a glancing one. The cruel edge of the dagger severed cleanly through a dozen or more of the tightly-fitted adamantine links of his mail shirt and tore through the black flesh beneath, opening a wound half the length of his hand and bruising the ribs on the right side of his torso. Phendrana gritted his teeth and dug in his heels so as not to lose his balance, and whirling back he faced his opponent. Aside from the one-of-a-kind blade he bore and the unusual magenta hue of his eyes Phendrana found him to be entirely unextraordinary; he was clad in the garb of a commoner, high boots and breeches and jerkin and cowl, and though his face was as dark-skinned as a shade's not a single shadow clung to his body.
Curiosity outweighed good sense then, and cocking his head to one side he asked, "Who are you?"
The assassin's eyes narrowed as he considered whether or not to respond – then the faint shadow he cast along the ground elongated, solidified, and whatever answers Phendrana may have gleaned never came.
The shadow leapt from the ground and became the figure of a man with burning silver eyes that blazed from beneath the low-pulled cowl of his shroud, and with the uncanny reflexes honed by hundreds of years of stealthy assassinations Fourth Prince Aglarel nimbly dodged away from the intruder's instinctive strike; as he turned he drew his own weapon, a dagger whose blade flashed crimson in the light, and leapt back in, but to Phendrana's great surprise the stroke was met and turned. Aglarel quick-stepped forward, pressing the attack, but his opponent met him stride for stride and after the Fourth Prince's initial attack the advantage was lost. They traded blows at a furious pace, each movement so quick and so lethally executed that Phendrana could scarcely follow the battle with his own eyes, until with a resounding clang the ghostly-blue knife dashed Aglarel's weapon from his fingers and sent it sailing harmlessly out of reach.
The intruder laughed exuberantly, brandishing his blade before him, and at last condescended to speak aloud. "You amuse me!" he called mockingly, circling Aglarel all while keeping Phendrana within his sights. "Is this all that the renowned Princes of Shade can offer up in resistance?"
Aglarel straightened, his ceremonial fangs flashing within his ebon-skinned face as he grinned, and reaching up reflexively he ran a hand down his face; ever-perceptive Phendrana did not miss the careless fingertip the prince traced along the small black amethyst pierced through the helix of his right ear, plainly visible with his cowl fluttering loosely about his shoulders, and he said, "You should know, boy, that the Princes of Shade are full of surprises."
Even as he spoke the threat his hand plunged down the front of his shroud, quick as a striking snake, and he retrieved a smaller blade no longer than his index finger; their assailant dropped briefly into a defensive crouch before shooting forward, preparing to bowl Aglarel over with his momentum, but the Fourth Prince simply tossed the blade into the air past their attacker. He was unarmed as the would-be assassin fell upon him, the ethereal glow of the obsidian blade flashing ominously as he wielded it before him, and Phendrana seized hold of his mental powers and prepared a strike –
The intruder's shadow darkened and sprung into yet another figure, and the moment Aveil Arthien's body solidified she stretched her arm out and caught the blade Aglarel had flung skyward; she stabbed forward with the glittering bit of steel, sinking it into the flesh of their opponent's right shoulder blade and grinning with a kind of macabre satisfaction when he cried out. Their attacker's right arm uncoiled as he slammed his elbow mercilessly into Aglarel's face – Phendrana thought he heard the crack of bone – before whirling back to face Aveil; putting out her free hand she summoned an ornate black staff that Phendrana hadn't seen before, brandishing it in front of her defensively as he stalked forward, but behind her there emitted a blinding white flash that faded into a swirling white mist and hovered expectantly a few inches above the ground, drawing all their attentions.
Recognition dawned in the man's fuchsia eyes as they alighted upon the unexplainable phenomena, and bursting into motion he shoved past Aveil and hurled himself headlong toward it. Though she was off-balance Aveil still managed to launch a bolt of freezing lightning at his back; with impressive reflexes the intruder sprang to one side, amazingly fleet-footed, and though the bolt struck the ground at his feet he hardly slowed. Aveil cursed aloud and gave chase, hurtling after their quarry, her violet eyes on fire within her alabaster face –
"No!" barked Aglarel, his voice a whip crack, and the moment Aveil stopped in her tracks the assassin flung himself into the swirling white fog and vanished into thin air.