The Rook

by Fatality

(Kings and Pawns - Book I) (Sequel to Devil) Phendrana has at last become a shade, but in the wake of his transformation all is not well. With his mental abilities keener than ever before the doppelganger finds himself plagued with a series of prophetic dreams, and only by relying on these vague images will the Shadow Court have any hope of defending the City of Shade.

9. Tipping the Scales

Quartana Baenre paced the length of the ovular audience chamber, the sound of her high heeled boots clacking repetitively against the tile echoing off the chiseled walls and her snarls of displeasure and impatience audible despite her efforts to contain them. Nhilue Xorlarrin followed the priestess' every step with her luminous crimson eyes, the fingers of her right hand combing through the gently-undulating viper bodies that adorned her whip as though she needed the feel of their silky scales to keep her calm. Mourn sat in the extreme corner of the room, keeping himself as unassuming as possible in the small patch of shadows cast from the light of the half dozen candles set up at the foot of the ornate throne, cross-legged with his back against the wall and his eyes fixed vacantly upon the nearest flickering flame. For an indeterminable period of time that might have been minutes or hours, no one spoke.

The sudden cessation of the priestess' pacing prompted Mourn to raise his head; Quartana had come to a halt a few feet away from where Nhilue sat with her shapely legs curled beneath her. Given the tense set of her jaw Mourn assumed she had reached a conclusion she would much rather not voice aloud, and when she spoke she proved him right in his musings. "They should have returned long ago."

Her eyes were upon the comely conjurer stroking the sinuously-twining vipers with her razor-sharp white fingernails as though seeking some sort of confirmation or denial; Nhilue blinked owlishly, undoubtedly weighing whether or not to share her opinion with the ever-volatile priestess of Lolth, before she nodded once gravely. "The psionist at the very least – he left fully an hour before that other male did, the one with only one eye. I suspect that they are dead by now, Lady Baenre."

"Or worse," Quartana snarled, her empty hands clenching and unclenching spasmodically at her sides as she grasped for weapons that were not within reach. "They have been compromised. We can no longer trust that the upper hand still rests with us."

"No," Nhilue agreed solemnly, the word twisting her devastatingly lovely face in an unfamiliar way that made her appear, for a fleeting moment, wholly unattractive. "They are weak-willed males, and the Princes of Shade will have little difficulty breaking them down if they have a mind to do so. The psionist and the wizard can't be trusted to keep the particulars of Lolth's crusade to themselves. They will implicate us."

Quartana's shoulders tensed as she at last voiced aloud what the other two had been afraid to utter aloud. "Then we have no hope of success."

Mourn couldn't quite suppress a dejected sigh. The idea that he was now caught up in a hopeless mission with two volatile females – at the express command of the Spider Queen, no less – did not sit well with him. And knowing that Xuntath would likely never return to Bregan D'aerthe was disheartening. He had been both a credit to the mercenaries that skulked the deepest shadows of Menzoberranzan and his deceased house, and it had been reassuring having someone close by who truly understood why Mourn's involvement was so crucial in so many ways. It had made Mourn feel empowered, had kept his thoughts firmly rooted in his ultimate goal. Now he felt he would be lucky to see the light of Narbondel ever again.

Nhilue had risen to her feet, Mourn noticed with a start, and closed the distance between herself and the Baenre priestess; with her free hand she gently stroked the stern lines of Quartana's face until they smoothed, the cool smile upon her full lips soothing Quartana's ire. For a moment, Mourn was powerless to look away. "Not so, my lady," she cooed, her voice strangely enchanting. "The Princes of Shade may have been alerted to our movements, that much is true, but that does not mean we are truly at a disadvantage. They are on the lookout now, but the fact remains that they haven't the first clue just what they are looking for. They cannot guard every citizen within their city at one time – such a thing would be impossible. They will slip up, or let their guards down – and when they do, we will exploit their weaknesses. The Spider Queen will tell you when to strike, and we will be ready."

Mourn dropped his gaze back to the floor and bit back every one of his scathing retorts. He thought this line of thinking was entirely too optimistic, though of course he would surely be reprimanded for stating his opinion. Had Lolth not been guiding them since the very start? Had it done them any good whatsoever? Mourn had to admit – privately, anyway – that he was rather of the opinion that if they hadn't followed Lolth's decree to the letter there was a chance that Xuntath and Zek would still be alive.

Still, he reasoned, watching Nhilue coax Quartana into discussing the next stage of their devious plot, not all was lost – until they had all been eliminated there was still a slim chance that their efforts hadn't been in vain.

If there was any chance at all that they might still come into contact with Lim Tal'eyve, the risk was well worth the potential reward.

---

Phendrana stood upon the balcony with his hands braced upon the guardrail, surveying the Circle with something like fierce protectiveness in his eyes. The break in his white adamantine armor had been mended expertly and he had donned it after the ceremony, for he had a sinking feeling that he might need it before long; the gates to the palace had been firmly shut but revelry continued up and down the streets of the Lower District, the commoners rejoicing gaily in the elevation of the newest Hero of Thultanthar. The Circle was decidedly less rowdy than the streets where the less fortunate dwelt but there was still a great deal of activity in the pavilion; he was hailed constantly by a steady stream of voices raised in exultation, and had taken to lifting one hand and waving vacantly at anyone who passed.

Occasionally that hand would drop surreptitiously to the belt of weapons he had donned over his armor, to the hilt of the relic weapon the High Prince had bestowed upon him at his christening that now served as his badge of office. In place of his elven thinblade he had sheathed a razor-thin rapier whose hilt was pure gold and whose blade was refinished with moonstones, a weapon that the Most High had explained had been a gift of thanks from the elves of Evereska when the Princes of Shade had helped drive the phaerimm from those sacred forests. The elves called the blade Dusk, saying that that most fleeting time of day between sundown and nighttime reminded them most of the Princes of Shade – mysterious, elusive, but above all, intensely magical. The blade would always be faintly luminous, much like the brightest stars that shone before the sun had fully set, and the handsome jade stone set in the weapon's pommel could grant its wielder the ability to shift into the Astral Plane for a limited period of time.

It was all so much more than he felt he deserved.

There was movement behind him but he didn't turn, knowing well enough that his companion wouldn't be able to keep from questioning his brooding for long – after all, he hadn't spoken since the ceremony had come to a close and hadn't lingered to join in the revelry that seemed to have engulfed most of the city. Phendrana found that he was increasingly grateful for allowing Lamorak to accompany him back to Villa Tareia – the Third Prince was very like him in many ways, with a penchant for the more intellectual pursuits of life and an inherent dislike for any social situation that might land him in the limelight for any period of time. At present his head was down as he perused a page of the thick tome he had taken to reading – the spine read The Mind's Eye, a collection of autobiographical accounts of Seers who had been afflicted with prophetic visions similar to Phendrana's throughout the course of the previous age. In Phendrana's bedchamber, sitting cross-legged in his familiar perch with his back against the doppelganger's broad study desk, Lux had engrossed himself in a similar book that Phendrana's didn't know the name of. They were trying, he assumed, to help him make sense of his strange fortune-telling visions. He couldn't help wondering just what they were hoping to find – surely there was no cure for such a curious mental state?

"This book will be of little help to us," Lamorak told him dutifully, snapping the book shut in his hand and letting out a soft sigh of frustration. "Here are told dozens of stories of self-named prophets and seers, but none with a situation so… genuine. These poor fools are victims of witchcraft gone afoul, or the by-product of foolish bards who think their hypnotism parlor tricks are harmless but can really drive a mortal insane. They are not perfectly healthy men and women who one day begin having dreams that detail future events with no outward provocation."

Phendrana had bitten his tongue the first time Lamorak had made a similar remark, but this time he voiced his major qualm with that train of thought. "I was not perfectly healthy when I first began having these dreams either, if you recall."

Lamorak had tucked the book beneath one arm and was surveying Phendrana with that clinical look the doppelganger took to be his characteristic expression, as though Phendrana himself was a fascinating specimen to be studied and Lamorak had been placed in charge of some truly enticing experiments – occasionally it made Phendrana feel something less than human, and he found that in this particular instance he didn't much care for it. "You are right," he agreed reluctantly, causing Phendrana's jaw to go slack with surprise – Lamorak had always disputed this knowledge before. "You were distraught when I first came upon you. You were completely consumed by all that you had lost – your friends' voices, your most distant memories, your ability to alter your form into any shape you chose and the love of the man you desired. You may have thought your mind fragmented prior to your transformation, but I confess – never before have I had a glimpse into a mind more broken than yours after you returned to the enclave. The mental, physical, and psychological trauma you endured while in Castle Tethyr… It is possible that your body was subjected to more than it could bear, more even than the shadow could hope to repair."

"Then you suppose these dreams really are a result of my transformation." Phendrana's voice made it clear that this was not a question.

"They may be," Lamorak agreed diplomatically, his eyes sweeping the Circle now with great diligence. "It is not my place to offer an explanation as to the capabilities of your mind, Phendrana, for I am no expert in these matters. I am a scholar, certainly, a man who is learned in determining the futures and potentials of others, but of your great matter I know almost nothing. We know only that the shadow brought you back from the jaws of death, and that it sharpened certain facets of your mind just as it dulled certain others. But did it bestow upon you the ability to prophesize the future of Thultanthar, or did that gift come from something else? I can only speculate."

"Gift?" Phendrana echoed incredulously, and before he could stop himself he was laughing aloud, his tone one of resounding cynicism. "You believe that these damnable visions are a gift?!"

The Determinist Prime turned fully to face him, his features hardening, his eyes narrowing into slits of sharp silver ice; were it not for Lamorak's slightly trimmer, more academic build, Phendrana may have mistook him for Fourth Prince Aglarel in that moment. "Your visions have saved lives," he reminded, with just a hint of impatience that suggested he felt Phendrana was acting childishly. "Aglarel's. The High Prince's. Yours. My own. How many others will be in your debt before this is over? And all on account of something that, for whatever reason, you still consider a mental defect?"

Phendrana ran a hand down his face then, feeling increasingly more helpless than before, and at last uttered that which was truly troubling him. "I wanted to serve the High Prince to the best of my ability. Never did I imagine that I would have to be reduced to this – little more than a madman – in order to do so."

For once Lamorak chose not to argue the point – Phendrana wasn't sure if he felt grateful for that or offended. "You may call it what you will," said the Third Prince bracingly, "but in answer I feel I must remind you that true genius is often misperceived."

That wasn't the first time Phendrana had heard such a thing, but recalling the other instances only caused him undue melancholy and he was quite through feeling sorry for himself. He felt they were overdue for a change in topic, and given recent events he had little difficulty steering the conversation in another direction. "She should have been here by now."

"Have patience," Lamorak bade him gently, though his brow creased a little with worry as he said this. "She had much to discuss with the Most High, and there was her arm to mend."

Phendrana crossed his arms over his chest as a shudder that had nothing at all to do with the climate coursed down his spine. "Impersonating Aglarel is one of the most foolish ideas she has ever had. Confronting that drow alone, knowing that Aglarel was his intended target, telling no one of her intentions before she acted upon them… It's a wonder that she wasn't killed."

"You are right, of course," agreed the Third Prince, "though you must also admit that her tactics got results. Aglarel would have killed the drow outright. Aveil knew we would need him alive if we were to have any hope of gaining the upper hand in this. We are fortunate that she acted of her own accord. I do hope, for her sake, that the Most High sees the situation the same way."

"Is there any danger that she might be punished?" Phendrana thought there were no grounds for such correcting behavior, but he was not the High Prince.

Lamorak was shaking his head. "Not in my opinion. With your help she was able to thwart yet another assassination attempt. The High Prince knows these are turbulent times – he will reward her for her constant vigilance."

The curtain parted then and Lux peeked his head out, his green eyes burning with curiosity. "Prince Lamorak, Lord Phendrana… the Sceptrana is here."

The doppelganger and the Determinist Prime exchanged a glance that encompassed all emotions from relief to intrigue and hastened to follow the young Shadovar boy back inside. Aveil was standing just inside the door when they came upon her; she had traded in her customary robes for a simple black skirt that slit up to her knee and a crimson corseted bodice that accentuated her voluptuous figure in a most flattering way, but it was easy to see why she had chosen such an ensemble – the lack of sleeves kept her arm unrestrained, necessary now as her entire right arm was swathed in shadowsilk dressing from shoulder to wrist. In her other hand she clutched Stygian Invidia, whose azure stone glittered with a kind of cool, pensive radiance, and she wore a simple crown of silver and garnets woven into her black hair; in that moment, Phendrana thought she looked just as queenly as Soleil Chemaut.

Aveil bowed graciously to Lamorak, but the moment she straightened her eyes lit upon Phendrana; Lux, ever the soul of discretion, bowed low and silently took his leave. "I must ask you to forgive me," Aveil said, her eyes downcast with sorrow. "I know that Aglarel charged me with providing you protection, and for abandoning you I am truly sorry. The plan came to me in an exceedingly rare moment that I found myself alone, and I knew that if I shared it with anyone I would likely not succeed." She winced at some memory before finishing, "The High Prince tells me that you squared off against the psionist, and that you only barely escaped with your life… How did you manage to fend him off?"

"Before I departed for the palace grounds I had the good sense to tell Lux where I was bound," Phendrana confided, careful to keep his face perfectly neutral when he spoke. "Lamorak came to call on me sometime later, and Lux told him where I had gone. It was Lamorak who helped me defeat the drow." He still didn't feel right about lying about how those events had unfolded – even now he took issue with it, remembering most vividly that second voice in his mind and marveling at its overwhelming familiarity – but Lamorak had pleaded for him to follow his lead and Phendrana respected the prince enough to trust his judgment. He was still hoping he might coax the truth out of the Third Prince at a later time, but he knew that that time was not now.

"How fortunate," said Aveil, her face lighting up with relief, and she turned her grateful smile upon Lamorak. "I did not know you were so proficient in the art of psionics, Prince."

"Oh, I have dabbled in it enough to put up a formidable enough defense if the need calls for it," Lamorak chortled evasively. "But the victory is still Phendrana's, regardless of what he says. Even with a crippled mind he was still able to utterly crush our adversary – I merely helped speed the process along."

Phendrana gestured to the tightly-fitted shadowsilk dressing that encased the Sceptrana's arm. "How is it?"

Aveil flexed the fingers of her right hand before clenching a fist; the thin but durable ebony fibers tightened with the movement but did not give. "Mostly superficial; Prince Dethud is confident that the wound will not scar, but I am not so optimistic. The muscle damage was minimal – already it does not hurt so much. The dressing will be off in a few days' time."

A thoughtful but companionable silence descended upon the three of them then as they reflected upon the days' many events; Phendrana wondered if they felt weary of talking, as he himself had since long before his christening. He was rather of the opinion that the time for idle chatter and speculation was long past; he was tired of all the guesswork involved in interpreting his oddly-prophetic dreams and wished with all his might that it was time for them to take matters into their own hands. Knowing what was in store for them was bad enough, and waiting for it to come to pass was even worse – all Phendrana wanted was the opportunity to strike back against their adversaries, to feel as though they held the upper hand even if it was only for a moment. He turned their conversation onto the only topic that made him feel even the least bit proactive. "Aglarel is still with the drow?"

Aveil's eyes slipped to the floor as though the thought disturbed her, but she nodded all the same. "Even now he speaks with him, though the Most High seems to think that Aglarel will be changing tactics very soon. As I understand it the drow is not responding well to Aglarel's more humane methods – I suspect it won't be long before Aglarel's technique takes a turn for violence."

"You would dissuade him from handling the prisoner thusly?" Lamorak scoffed disdainfully. "I am not a man of violence, Sceptrana, yet for my part I can only say that I hope Aglarel is not gentle with that one. The drow are infiltrating our home at an alarming rate and attempting to murder some of the most prestigious and influential members of our society, yet you would show them clemency?"

"Of course not," Aveil snapped back. "I don't fear for the drow's safety – I fear what may become of him if he does not yield to Aglarel in time. In his devotion to the High Prince Aglarel sometimes allows his anger to get the better of him, and at times I even fear that he does not know his own strength… If Aglarel cannot master his anger while he interrogates the prisoner, we may lose the only advantage we have. And where will we be then?"

"Trusting our fates to the continued consistency of my dreams," Phendrana finished wearily, none-too-thrilled with the prospect. "I cannot say the idea pleases me."

"Nor can I," Aveil admitted, "though of course I mean no disrespect."

Lamorak lifted one hand to stroke his chin thoughtfully. "And how has our own resident drow reacted to this chain of events?"

Aveil had spotted the decanter of heartwine Lux had left upon the dining room table and crossed the room to help herself to a glass. Phendrana couldn't say that he blamed her – it had been a trying day for them all. "I watched him as closely as I dared throughout the ceremony, for I knew someone would ask when things settled down," she told them, lifting the glass to her lips and taking a modest sip; the liquid darkened her lips, the flickering light of the candles upon Phendrana's desk giving the illusion that they were painted in blood. "Lim seemed perfectly at ease for the duration of the proceedings and hardly seemed put out by the news that one of the drow had been taken alive. I did hear him ask the Most High if he knew the name of the drow who had been captured, but at the time Aglarel had yet to ascertain even that much so the Most High had nothing to tell him."

"We must ensure that the name reaches Lim's ears before too long," Lamorak mused. "Let us see if it sparks some recognition in him – if it does, it may be proof that Lim is awaiting allies from his homeland."

"Will it though?" Phendrana wondered aloud, earning him incredulous looks from both his companions. "Any man might display recognition at the mere mention of a name he has heard before, but can that really be considered proof that they entertain the same diabolical designs? I hate to admit it, but I fear the only proof the High Prince will accept will be an admittance of partnership from our prisoner's own lips. Only then can Lim be implicated in this plot."

Aveil's expression had grown considerably darker, but there was no refuting such logic. Somehow she had already finished her wine, and replaced the empty glass with a jarring clatter. "I fear I cannot remain here while Aglarel goes about his work… I will return to the palace and ask the High Prince if he might admit me to the dungeons. Perhaps I can be of some use to Aglarel, even if all I can do is keep him from losing his temper."

Lamorak was willing enough to dismiss her. "Then go. We need the drow alive."

The Sceptrana wasted no time, simply turned a graceful pirouette and dissolved into her own shadow. The moment she was gone Lamorak took up the decanter and poured himself a marginal amount of heartwine, earning a shocked stare from Phendrana – the doppelganger had never known the Third Prince to drink, even in social settings.

"It really has been a most taxing day," was all Lamorak would say in his own defense before tossing the drink back in one swallow, and at that Phendrana couldn't help but smile. "Besides, I fear I might need the added courage for what I intend to do next."

"What will you do?" asked Phendrana, intrigued at once.

"We," Lamorak corrected slyly, "are leaving. It is time we stopped waiting for your visions to point us in the right direction. It is time to start taking matters into our own hands."

---

It was deathly quiet in the dungeons; Aveil stood poised at the top of the stone stairs leading down into the dank underbelly of the palace, her ears poised for any sound, but she heard neither the harsh whisper of a command or the telltale crack of a hungry whip. Slowly, so as not to misstep and tumble down the steps or to interrupt anything that might be transpiring below, she began her arduous descent.

The last two steps were bathed in the faintest sheen of amber light, guiding her safely down the rest of the way; once she had reached the subterranean level Aveil flattened herself against the nearest wall and dared to peer around the corner, her heart thudding madly in her chest as she imagined the dreadful things that might be awaiting her. The soft illumination was coming from a single tall white candle, affixed to a tarnished bronze candelabra stained with dark, long-dried flecks of what might have been blood; the candlelight glanced off the dull, roughly-hewn stone walls, giving the entire chamber an out-of-place golden sheen. When she shuffled a half step forward, even that simple movement kicked up little clouds of dust at her feet – there hadn't been a prisoner down her since she had landed herself at the High Prince's mercy, and even that seemed like a lifetime ago.

Their prisoner, a male drow with a long white scraggly ponytail and a single burgundy-hued eye, was sitting with his hands and feet chained to a crude wooden chair; aside from a visible sheen of sweat upon his brow and the quickened, shallow pace of his breathing he didn't seem any worse for wear despite the hour he had spent below ground. His wizard's robes were dusty and disheveled, but with one glance Aveil felt confident that he hadn't suffered any additional wounds that hadn't already been inflicted upon him back in the High Prince's audience hall. The only other piece of furniture that stood out – aside from the many disturbing implements arranged in neat little rows along the walls – was a slightly-lopsided four-legged table upon which gleamed a half-dozen sterile little silver instruments, but from a distance Aveil couldn't readily determine what they might be.

Movement out of the corner of her right eye caught her attention, and Aveil shifted her gaze just in time to see Fourth Prince Aglarel shrug out of his shroud and hang it from a peg protruding from the far wall. He rolled his shoulders back as though stretching, the ever-shifting flames casting long shafts of light along his naked back as the muscles rippled sinuously to accommodate the movement; even in the near-darkness the host of thin gray scars that marred his obsidian flesh were easily distinguishable, some smoothed over with the passing of time and others puckered as though they had been inflicted far more recently. Aveil couldn't help but fear Aglarel as he closed the distance between himself and the table upon which the silver instruments lay waiting, his boots silent upon the dusty stones and the hem of his simple charcoal-gray trousers shifting about his ankles with each step – how many fearsome creatures had Aglarel faced, to earn so many awful wounds? How many enemies of Thultanthar had died by his skillful, deadly hand?

"What are you doing?" the drow spoke up hoarsely – against his better judgment, it seemed to Aveil.

Aglarel selected a single implement and held it aloft, inspecting it with a practiced, appraising eye; in the lack of natural light the shadows that generally clung close to his body had diminished into a barely-visible gray fog, leaving the well-honed planes of his upper torso plainly visible in the light from the sputtering candle. "Much as I have enjoyed our little chat, I must admit I grow weary of your obstinacy. I thought I'd speed the process along, and I'd hate to get blood all over my shroud – it was a gift from my sovereign. I trust you'll understand."

The drow sat up a little straighter, his extremities straining against his iron bonds, though of course they didn't yield even an inch for all his efforts. His single working eye was wide as he watched the amber light play along the cruel silver edge of the instrument in Aglarel's hand. "Wait," he begged, squirming helplessly, his voice breaking on even that singular syllable. "Wait!"

"Oh don't worry," Aglarel shushed him, his voice a deceptive coo as he closed the distance between them and crouched right down so that he and the drow were eye-level with one another. "I have only a question for you – it's very simple. Your eye… the burgundy one… You can still see out of it, correct?"

He had set to tracing the point of the tool the length of the drow's jaw-line and back again; their captive actually whimpered. "Y-Yes, of course."

"I thought as much," said the Fourth Prince amicably, as though their mundane conversation was actually one of vital importance to him. "And the other one, the one with the scar… It is blind, isn't it?"

"What?" snapped the drow, clearly distracted by the uncomfortably close proximity of the small blade. "Yes. Why should that matter?"

Aglarel ignored the question and rocked back onto his heels, rising easily to his feet; he held out his hand toward the candle, letting the flames lick the length of the silver implement as he surveyed his prisoner with a practiced eye. Only when the sharpened edge of the blade was glowing a dull crimson did he retract his arm and lean forward, bracing his free hand against the arm of the chair and bringing his face within inches of his prisoner when he said, "So I trust you won't be needing that one, then."

Aveil caught on to his meaning not a moment too soon and wisely averted her eyes; the instant she squeezed her eyes shut the chamber filled with the drow's pathetic screams, individual words indecipherable in his hysteria. Fortunately the shrieks of agony did not last long – in less than half a minute, it seemed, the drow's cries had softened into mewling sobs. Aveil swallowed back the urge to be sick and dared to peer around the corner of the staircase again; Aglarel was standing straight now, his expression perfectly at ease as he painstaking wiped the little silver instrument clean on a plain white cloth.

Morbid curiosity drew Aveil's gaze back to the drow's face, where blood was seeping freely from his now-empty eye socket. The sorceress's stomach rolled unpleasantly.

"Let's start with your name," Aglarel requested nonchalantly, laying the cleaning cloth aside and holding the tool over the candle where it basked once again in the eager little flame. "That is, if you like your other eye where it is."

"Zek," gasped the wizard desperately, the first beads of red dripping from the point of his chin and staining the collar of his robes. "Zek Vandree."

"Very good," the Fourth Prince praised him mildly. "And how did you come to be in our fair city, Zek Vandree?"

The drow's good eye was darting around restlessly, as though he hoped the answer Aglarel desired to hear might be painted upon the softly-illuminated walls somewhere. His response was decidedly uncertain despite his best efforts. "A-A portal?"

"Yes, of course you used a portal to get here – it isn't as though our city is strategically placed on the ground, within walking distance of your foul kind," Aglarel pointed out disdainfully, crouching down again and laying his elbows across his knees as he studied Zek's face; if he was at all put out by the blood still seeping from the gaping hole in the prisoner's face, he did very well to hide it. "Do not insult my intelligence by telling me what I already know. Did you conjure the portal? Did some other black elf do it for you? What about the ones who came here before you, the assassin with the starmetal blade and the psionist? Was the means of entry the same for all of you?"

Zek, it seemed, was having a difficult time keeping up with Aglarel's constant stream of questions – the searing pain that was the constant reminder of the eye he had just lost undoubtedly played a part in his delirium, Aveil reasoned – and couldn't find it in himself to answer right away; Aglarel's eyes narrowed severely, the candlelight glancing off the silver of his eyes in a most ominous way. He leaned forward another inch, close enough that the drow could feel Aglarel's breath against his face, and hovered there silently as Zek stammered through what he hoped was a suitable reply. "I-I-I… I didn't, but… They didn't, and… They just… appear…"

"Come now, Zek Vandree, you can do better than that," Aglarel chastened softly, and when the implement in his hand flashed up before Zek's face the drow flinched back and uttered another low sob. "I was going to take out your other eye if your answers displeased me, but I've had a change of heart."

For a moment, Zek visibly relaxed. "Oh, t-thank you… I – "

"I want you to see everything I do to you," the Fourth Prince finished, his voice soft as velvet but full of malice, and pinning the wizard's hand flat against the armrest of the chair with his free hand Aglarel brought the silver implement he held arcing down to sever Zek's littlest finger just below the second knuckle. Zek squealed and writhed in his chair, causing a few stray flecks of fresh blood to land upon Aglarel's bare chest, but the Fourth Prince paid this no mind as he stood up straight again and wiped the instrument clean on a sleeve of Zek's robes.

Aglarel tossed the severed finger across the room, where it was lost in the shadows in the far corners of the chamber that the faint candlelight could not reach; Aveil clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror, and swallowed back bile.

"The portals," Aglarel reminded coldly, and Zek slumped down as far as his bonds would allow and dissolved into pitiable sobs.

"Quartana says that the Spider Queen makes them," he whined. "That's all I know about them!"

"And who is Quartana?" Aglarel snapped immediately.

"A high priestess of House Baenre," Zek panted. "She was the one who brought us all together, she was the one who told us that she was doing Lolth's work – "

"She communes with Lolth directly?" Aglarel interrupted, pacing the floor to-and-fro in front of the chair in which Zek sat chained. "You must be more specific, Zek Vandree. You still have nine fingers left, and if you happen to run out I can always get creative."

Zek's shoulders wracked with sobs – he really was a wretched sight, Aveil thought to herself in disgust. Fortunately Aglarel's tactics seemed to be wringing results out of their captive, for in the next moment he became a little more forthcoming with his responses. "She said that she saw us all together in her dreams… She told us that Lolth speaks to her when she sleeps, telling her who to kill and when… She said that Lolth had named us her advance guard in the coming war with Thultanthar."

Aglarel visibly stumbled - in all the time she had known him, Aveil had never seen him do so. He turned fully to face Zek with an incredulous expression on his face; the sputtering candlelight undulated over the muscled planes of his torso, making him appear constantly in motion. "The Spider Queen has declared war upon Thultanthar?! On what grounds?!"

"Please," begged Zek Vandree, tears streaking down his face from his single working eye. "You don't understand… They'll kill me if I tell you. No one was ever supposed to find out – "

Aglarel uttered a violent curse beneath his breath and closed the distance between the two of them in two long strides, and leaning right over he seized the drow's grimy ponytail and gave it a tug sharp enough to tear a few strands from the scalp; Zek howled but had no hope of escape, and with his throat so exposed Aglarel leveled the sharp silver tool in line with the drow's Adam's apple and pressed with exacting pressure – enough to break the skin and leave a single drop of blood staining the blade, but not enough to cause any lasting damage. "I don't think you understand," Aglarel corrected, his words strangely clipped coming through his tightly-gritted teeth. "The last upstart who dared to oppose the High Prince was sealed beneath the foundations of the palace – buried alive, you might say. Is that what you want, Zek Vandree? Will you be nearly as frightened of your kind getting their hands on you when you are confined to a tomb of glass and forgotten beneath thousands of tons of rock?"

"Lim Tal'eyve!" the drow all but shrieked, his voice shooting through several octaves in his hysteria. "That's what the Spider Queen wants! She knows that Lim Tal'eyve has allied with Lord Shadow and now she's prepared to put an end to the entire Tanthul family for it! She's been sending us after you, trying to clear the way to him!"

"Are you his allies?!" Aglarel roared, his glinting ceremonial fangs just millimeters from the drow's sweat-stained face. "Did Lolth plant him here for this purpose?! Is his true aim to weaken us from the inside?!"

"I don't know!" Zek moaned, violent shudders ripping through his body. "I swear – "

"Oh, do you?" The point of the blade dug in, turning Zek's cries of agony into incomprehensible gurgles; Aveil, unable to bear any more, put the grisly scene at her back and fled up the stairs with the sound of the drow choking on his own blood filling her ears.

---

"This is never going to work," said Phendrana for the fifth time, his voice pained, and for the first time since they had become acquainted Lamorak actually rolled his eyes.

"Of course it will," the Third Prince corrected impatiently, reaching out and painstakingly adjusting the doppelganger's collar again until he seemed pleased with the way it draped open. "Even if we have misjudged him completely, we stand only to gain in this instance. Not even you can deny that much."

Phendrana wished he could argue, but he had accepted that Lamorak's logic was sound when first the prince had explained his proposal and it would seem in poor taste for him to back out now when the success of the operation hinged on his ability to seem convincing. After Lamorak had downed his half glass of wine he had torn Phendrana's chest-of-drawers apart, flinging clothes all over the doppelganger's bedchamber in his endeavor to locate the right outfit for the occasion; in the end he had chosen a form-fitting vest the color of cobalt with sapphires lining the breast pocket and a pair of black velvet breeches that Phendrana had insisted at first glance were a size too small for him. The vest bared Phendrana's midriff and the breeches left little to the imagination, but Lamorak had insisted over and over again that that was the point so Phendrana had kept his complaints to himself. Now they were standing between two abandoned apartment buildings in the Lower District, tucked in an alley out of sight of any prying eyes while they waited nervously for their third companion.

"I look ridiculous," Phendrana complained softly, shifting embarrassedly. Already he missed the comforting weight of his adamantine armor.

"No, you look convincing," Lamorak insisted. "Now stop fidgeting. You need to look at ease."

"I do not feel at ease."

The Third Prince sighed. "Pretend."

Gentle footsteps behind them made them turn, just as Lux melted out of the shadows and joined them. His inquisitive green eyes swept over Phendrana's uncharacteristic attire with a single knowing glance, and in a rare display of humor he actually chuckled into the back of his hand. "Lord Phendrana, I am truly sorry."

"Not as sorry as you will be if you ever breathe a word of this to anyone," Phendrana promised. "What are you doing here? Aveil – "

"Is now indisposed, and so sent me in her stead," Lux cut in smoothly, making a real effort to make his face appear apologetic despite his obvious amusement. "The High Prince summoned her, but not before she gave me a name to pass on to you – Zek Vandree."

"Then we can only hope that name will mean something to Lim Tal'eyve," said Lamorak with a sigh, and he turned fully to face Phendrana. "Watch him carefully for any sign of recognition – if he reacts in any way that makes you believe he is somehow associated with the drow that Aglarel is holding in the palace dungeons, you need to leave at once so that we can take this information to the Most High."

"And if he doesn't?" Phendrana asked disdainfully, in a tone that suggested he was preparing himself for that particular scenario.

Lamorak crossed his arms firmly over his chest and fixed the doppelganger with a withering look. "Then I suppose you could either run away screaming or attempt to enjoy yourself for a change, though of course the former might arouse quite a bit of suspicion."

"Interesting choice of words," Lux pointed out quietly, in a tone so deceptively innocent that Phendrana couldn't help the unwilling chuckle that escaped his lips before he silenced it.

"Back to the villa with you, knave," Phendrana told the curious Shadovar boy. "You will need to make yourself available in case Aveil returns with any more information for us. If she does, seek out Prince Lamorak straightaway – I will be, er, otherwise occupied for a time."

Lux bowed politely before turning on his heel and heading back the way he had come; though Phendrana was certain he didn't blink it seemed to him that the boy vanished before his eyes. The moment Lux was gone Phendrana dropped his head into his waiting hands, battling back the mounting sense of shame and degradation that had been threatening to overwhelm him since the first moment Lamorak had divulged his unorthodox proposal.

"You should be going instead of me," Phendrana spat acidly, his voice slightly muffled by the palms of his own hands. "This was your idea."

"Except that Lim didn't approach me with his false promises and his flimsy gesture of goodwill," Lamorak reminded – a little too pleasantly considering the circumstances, it seemed to Phendrana. "He expressed interest in you, not me. A visit from me would not have nearly the same effect." The Third Prince broke off, considering, before finishing in a much more understanding tone, "I will not be far if something goes wrong."

"This is never going to work," Phendrana repeated himself for the sixth time, resigning himself to voicing his real fear aloud. "My personal preferences are decidedly different than the tastes that are catered to within. My performance will be less than convincing."

Lamorak cut to the chase – they were out of time to bandy words back and forth so needlessly. "Phendrana, have you ever actually been in there?"

Phendrana's eyes widened self-consciously as he tried in vain to tug his too-tight vest down over his exposed navel. "What?! Of course I haven't!"

"Well, I have – I fathered my daughter within those walls, believe it or not, and I can tell you in confidence that your concerns are all unfounded. I suspect that Lim Tal'eyve's frequent presence has prompted the employ of a wider, more diverse array of attendants willing to offer their services – I have heard it told that Lim's appetite is as varied as it is voracious." Lamorak's hands landed upon Phendrana's shoulders as the doppelganger floundered for words, turning him in place and steering him in the direction of the entrance. "Go on now. There is no time like the present."

Phendrana tripped over his own feet as he made his way out of the dingy alley and approached the entrance, meticulously straightening his eclectic ensemble as he went; he kept his head down in the hopes that he wouldn't be recognized, but he couldn't help allowing his eyes to scan the street in both directions to ensure that he wasn't being followed. It was well past dark now, and the lateness of the hour had thinned the foot traffic in the Lower District considerably; there was a tavern half a block away that seemed to be brimming with patrons, as well as a seedy-looking brothel next door that appeared to have a steady stream of customers both coming and going, but the block he was on was deserted and he didn't expect he would be confronted, which was a great relief to him.

He chose not to linger at the door but knocked immediately – what was the point in delaying the inevitable?

Phendrana felt the bottom drop out of his stomach when the door opened to reveal Tenth Prince Rapha; he made a mental note to strangle Lamorak if he made it out of this in one piece. Rapha opened his mouth vehemently - Phendrana rocked back a step and prepared himself for the long-expected tirade – but he was saved from the volatile hexblade's fury when the door was wrenched open the rest of the way to reveal Lim Tal'eyve standing beside him. Phendrana had never felt so relieved to set eyes upon someone he so passionately despised.

"Well isn't this a rare surprise!" the drow laughed gleefully, clapping his hands together with a mischievous glint in his devious amber eyes.

It was obvious without Rapha's biting retort that he was something less than pleased by Phendrana's unexpected arrival, but he chose to be as forthcoming with his remarks as usual. "Is it?"

"Of course it is," Lim snapped, turning his head momentarily to glare at Rapha in a way that clearly stated he wasn't to be questioned – miraculously Rapha chose not to argue further, a fact that Phendrana noted with great interest as Lim swiveled to fix the doppelganger with what Phendrana supposed was his most inviting, winning smile. "To what do we owe this supreme pleasure, Phendrana?"

The doppelganger inwardly grimaced – he had been hoping his ridiculous attire would speak for itself, but then remembered that in life he was seldom so lucky. Squaring his shoulders, running briefly through all of the most important lines Lamorak had prepped him to say and hoping against hope he could deliver them properly, he looked the drow-shade square in the eye and said, "I have been considering your proposal a great deal since we last spoke, and given today's events I felt that it might be well worth my time to pursue the matter a little more seriously. I had rather hoped you might consider negotiating the terms of our partnership - if you still feel so inclined, that is."

Rapha's eyes – perpetually chill like Aglarel's, but tending closer in hue to platinum like Telamont's – flitted to Lim's face questioningly; he was wearing a strange look that may have been betrayal. "Do not tell me that you mean to enter into a similar arrangement with him? Look at him, Lim – he is a cheap nothing, if his chosen dress may serve as any indication."

Phendrana opened his mouth to protest hotly, but Lim interceded on his behalf. "Much as I enjoy your delightfully stereotypical jokes in a private setting, Rapha, I do find them tasteless and unimaginative in present company. Phendrana can hardly be considered cheap and he is anything but a creature of little consequence – why, I seem to recall just yesterday that he nearly crushed your windpipe using only the force of his own mind, isn't that correct?" He paused half a second, just long enough to glimpse the hint of a rebuff forming in Rapha's eyes, before overriding him smoothly. "As for his dress, consider the locale – speaking of which, let's move this conversation inside. I'm sure we'll all be far more comfortable there."

Tenth Prince Rapha spun away from the door wearing a long-suffering expression but Lim paid him no mind, instead standing politely away from the entrance and even stretching one arm out to indicate the room in a gesture of welcome; Phendrana stepped over the threshold and allowed the drow to close the door behind him, unsurprised when he also heard the telltale lock as Lim slid the deadbolt into place. Lim stood quietly at his side as Phendrana's eyes swept the interior of the establishment – though its exterior hinted at a dilapidated, perhaps even abandoned building, it was far more than that beneath the numerous enchantments Rapha had woven into the building's foundation in a rare show of discretion. In reality, Phendrana suspected there were few brothels in all of Faerun quite as lavish as the one he found himself in now.

"Thank you," he found himself muttering beneath his breath, unable to meet Lim's eyes as he expressed his gratitude. "The dislike Rapha feels toward me is reciprocated."

"I thought as much," Lim murmured back bemusedly, "but you needn't worry. I had motives for bringing Rapha to heel that run far deeper than my love for pleasure palaces such as these – namely that I knew he would be a stubborn one to cow. It has taken time, and more patience than I thought I would ever be able to muster, but he is coming around. But enough of that for now – should you like the tour?"

The term 'tour' was really just a loose formality; though spacious the establishment was all spread out on the ground level, but even that was larger than the kitchen, grand dining room, and reception hall of Villa Tareia combined. The primary chamber was completely strewn with lavish rugs and luxuriant furs and mounds upon mounds of brightly colored, tasseled pillows; a dozen women lounged about the room in various states of undress, conversing quietly amongst themselves while alternately shooting Lim and Phendrana seductive glances. The second largest chamber was off in the northwest wing, sectioned off by a heavy drape that Lim brushed past with a great flourish of his arm – behind this was a decadent bath, perhaps twice the size of the one in Phendrana's washroom, with a great cabinet filled with salves and unguents and salts standing in the far corner and a table filled with half-burnt candles blazing in the other. It was there they found Rapha – trying to look sulky, in Phendrana's opinion, but failing miserably as he had a nude serving girl under each of his arms. Additionally there were five smaller niches lining the eastern and southern walls, each of these also separated from the primary chamber by heavy curtains – these, Lim explained, were private suites that the other Princes of Shade used on their rare visits to the place when they wished to keep their trysts on the confidential side. Phendrana thought he heard activity behind one such curtain as they passed, and couldn't help wondering just who it was on the other side.

"And there you have it!" Lim concluded merrily when they had finished making the rounds, flinging himself down upon a mound of pillows stitched in handsome emeralds and rubies and golds; the moment it seemed he had made himself comfortable a trio of maids sauntered over and sank down beside him, murmuring soft words of welcome and massaging his shoulders and removing his supple boots. One of the girls was clearly of Netherese descent, with heavy dark hair and eyes characteristic of the descendants of the archwizards but with skin the slightly ashy hue of the Shadovar; the other two were obviously from the World Below, one with the olive complexion of the desert people of Calimshan and the other with skin the color of cream and eyes as blue as the sky on a summer day whom Phendrana suspected may have once been of Waterdeep. "A more enjoyable place in the City of Shade there is not, my friend."

"I believe you." Phendrana was still standing and knew he must look out of place, but he wasn't quite sure what to say next – especially not now, with the Calimshite slipping the robe from Lim's shoulders and baring the drow to the waist.

Fortunately, it seemed, Lim was a gracious host; he gazed up at the doppelganger through heavy-lidded eyes – taking note of Phendrana's suggestive dress again, it seemed – and asked, "Am I correct in assuming that you chose to visit me here, of all places, because you wish to mix your business with your pleasure? That can be arranged, of course – I have no doubt we can find someone to your liking." Lim sat up a little straighter and gestured lazily with one hand, indicating the other scantily-clad serving girls loitering about the primary chamber, and finished, "Ladies! Which of you would like the great honor of servicing the Mind of the Most High, the newly entitled Hero of Thultanthar, Phendrana?"

Half a dozen girls tittered in excitement; Phendrana supposed he would have felt flattered were he not already so preoccupied with feeling intensely embarrassed. The nearest girl, a truly lovely maid with golden hair who may have had celestial ancestry, wound her arms around the doppelganger's neck from behind and shifted just so that her slight curves molded to his back.

Phendrana gazed down at the expectant drow quite impassively, though inside he felt as though he was dying of shame; it was perfectly silent for the span of about three heartbeats, the time it took Phendrana to muster up his voice and whisper, "Forgive me."

In the blink of an eye Lim's lewd smile dissolved into a polite comprehension that the doppelganger hadn't expected to see; what happened next truly surprised Phendrana.

"A man should never be made to apologize for his desires," said Lim, shifting his wide smile to the girl draped over the doppelganger's shoulder. "Wylandriah, bring us some wine, if you please. And on your way back, be a dear and invite Malkith to join us – I suspect our guest of the hour might enjoy his company very much." And just like that the golden-haired beauty disentangled her limbs from Phendrana's neck and sashayed right on by, affording Phendrana the opportunity to sigh with relief. Lim gestured to the mound of pillows piled at Phendrana's feet, finishing, "Do make yourself comfortable – when you have everything you require, we will talk."

Phendrana knew that if he had any hope of getting any information out of Lim that he couldn't afford to refuse; without any further prompting he sank back against the plush pillows and reclined, letting his tense shoulders go slack and willing the rest of his body to respond in kind. He supposed he'd gotten it right when Lim beamed at him as though pleased – surely that was a good sign? Presently Wylandriah had returned with a decanter of Netherese heartwine and two glasses; they each took one, holding the delicate crystal steady as she poured, and Phendrana took a much-needed draft of his the moment it had been filled. Lim sipped more slowly, appraising the doppelganger over the rim of his own glass until something behind Phendrana caught his eye.

"Oh, Malkith, thank you for joining us. May I introduce Phendrana, the Mind of the Most High… This is his first visit, so do your best to make him feel welcome, hmm?"

Movement on Phendrana's right drew his gaze, and in the next instant the doppelganger unexpectedly found himself struggling to keep his composure. To use words such as handsome or attractive to describe Malkith would be doing him a great injustice; the young man sinking sinuously down next to him was quite positively striking, far more exotic than the traditional Shadovar fare Phendrana had grown accustomed to seeing in the Lower District. He may have been part-Netherese, but only just; his skin was paler than most Shadovar but retained just a hint of that gray pallor, giving him an alluring silver shade, and his limbs were slender and supple. His hair was dark but not quite black, with just a hint of chestnut in the tips of the strands that made his locks seem mahogany in the candlelight; his face was a devastating mix of high cheekbones, a narrow nose, and eyes the shade of the palest aquamarine stone that brought to mind arctic wildflowers in spring. Like Lim he was bare-footed and naked from the waist up, and when he smiled warmly at Phendrana the doppelganger's eyes inevitably followed the curvature of his lips.

"Now," said Lim with a lilting sigh of contentment, effectively bringing Phendrana back to the task at hand, "if you don't mind me asking, what prompted this visit of yours?"

Malkith's hands brushed along Phendrana's shoulders, his touch abnormally warm as he set to kneading the lithe muscles there with skillful fingers; Phendrana momentarily lost his train of thought, but thankfully the silence was not long enough for it to show. "Three would-be assassins have now somehow infiltrated the City of Shade, despite assurances that the security enchantments Prince Aglarel has put in place were never dispelled. It occurs to me that if I wish to serve the High Prince to the best of my ability, I had best not continue to trust in the competence of someone whose defensive efforts are clearly lackluster."

Lim was nodding along all the while, very obviously in agreement. "Yes – it's sad just how much faith the High Prince has placed in that one, isn't it? I will be frank with you, I cannot determine for the life of me how Aglarel ever managed to secure such an unshakeable position for himself at the High Prince's side. He is more fallible than the High Prince knows – though I daresay this chain of events might open our sovereign's eyes to the truth."

Phendrana smiled back at the drow lounging across from him, silently wishing that one day he might witness the moment when Aglarel at last put Lim in his place. "At any rate, I remembered your offer to – shall we say, grant me immunity from certain persons – if I were to confide in you, and that is why I have come. I had a vision of the drow who impersonated the High Prince – in my vision he killed Prince Aglarel."

"Truly?" Lim's eyes were wide, as though Phendrana had just told him a harrowing tale. "That is grave news indeed, my friend. Despite my qualms with the way Aglarel conducts the High Prince's business, I do not wish him any ill – it is fortunate indeed that Sceptrana Arthien had the presence of mind to enact countermeasures of her own. Had it not been for her quick thinking, I fear…" The drow let his sentence hang unresolved between them, taking a dainty sip of his wine. "Thank Shar that this most recent assassin was apprehended."

The fingers that worked Phendrana's upper back pressed a knot out of his trapezius and Phendrana barely stifled a moan, focusing to keep his thoughts on the matter at hand. "Yes, Shar be praised that this drow did not escape."

He had hoped that the subtle mention of the captive's race would spark a heightened sense of interest for Lim, but his companion reacted not at all to this news. He turned his head briefly to nuzzle the Waterdhavian's earlobe with the tip of his nose, murmuring something lascivious in her ear before saying, "What other dreams have you had? If we are to enter into business together, I should like to hear about everything you have seen – the better to help you act preemptively, of course."

Phendrana suppressed the nearly overwhelming urge to roll his eyes. "Nothing else as of yet – only the coming of Zek Vandree."

Lim looked puzzled. "Who?"

"The drow who was apprehended and imprisoned," Phendrana clarified somewhat impatiently.

"Oh, of course." Lim laughed genially, shaking his head at his own supposed cluelessness. "What a strange name – and unfortunately not one that I am familiar with." He frowned then as though troubled. "I had hoped it might be someone I was acquainted with once… All the better to advise the Most High when he calls on me next. This will not do. I know nothing more than I did before."

Phendrana nodded along, hoping that his expression appeared appropriately abashed, and marveled at the drow's acting skills. "Regrettable."

"Indeed." Lim held his wine glass out lazily toward the serving girl Wylandriah, who filled it at once. "Well, it was good of you to come to me in any case; I do hope you will continue to do so in the future. My only aim is to serve the High Prince to the very best of my ability – he has given me so much, you see, that I feel always compelled to please him even knowing that I could never possibly repay the debt that I owe. I suspect that even one day when I have completed that which I promised him I will still feel indebted to him."

The reminder of Lim's hefty promise was a lure that Phendrana could not ignore; he came forward off his pillows and Malkith came right with him, his fingers now deftly unfastening the buttons of the doppelganger's too-revealing vest. "I am amazed at your integrity," he confessed, hoping that flattery might get him somewhere. "Knowing that one day you will bring the Spider Queen down… I am in awe of you. But how will you do it? Have you some plan?"

"The details have yet to be determined," Lim answered loftily, "but the solution will come to me in time – of that I have no doubt. Patience is not my greatest virtue, unfortunately, but I am constantly reminding myself that what I am waiting for is well worth all this time."

It was an intriguing answer, so much so that Phendrana opened his mouth to continue with the next of his many burning questions, but he remembered his purpose there in the nick of time and wisely held his tongue. He needed Lim to believe that he had really come there seeking an alliance, for if the drow came to doubt him on any level he would choose not to confide in Phendrana and where would they be then? Lim seemed not to notice the doppelganger's moment of indecision, fortunately, and lay back in the arms of his mistresses, sighing contentedly as their hands roved his body hungrily; Phendrana was teetering on the edge of leaving, as he knew he should, and taking a page out of the drow's own book and allowing his more primal desires to rule his actions for once.

It was then that the nagging feeling that had been wheedling away in the back of his mind reared its head, and Phendrana's body grew abruptly rigid – he had just remembered why the name Malkith sounded so familiar to him. It was because that was the name of Brennus's previous liaison, the man the Twelfth Prince had renounced in order to pursue a more private relationship with Phendrana.

Suddenly the set of too-warm lips grazing the side of the doppelganger's neck made him feel violently nauseous, and it was all he could do to swallow back his disgust and keep from running out of Rapha's harem screaming. As it was he disentangled himself as politely yet insistently as he could from the other man without causing a scene and scrambled to his feet, all semblance of dignity lost somewhere between each of his ragged breaths.

Lim eyed him with a kind of lazy curiosity. "Leaving so soon?"

Phendrana struggled to come up with an excuse that would sound valid enough for him to leave without arousing too much suspicion. "I confess the events of the last two days seem to have caught up with me – I am very weary. These dreams… they tax me, I'm afraid. I have not been sleeping as much as I should, and it simply wouldn't do for my reflexes to become dull when the High Prince is so depending upon me to glimpse the dangers that might be coming our way. Might I call on you again sometime soon?"

"Of course," Lim agreed with an easy smile. "You are always welcome here, regardless of what Rapha might say. Do seek me out if you see anything else fascinating in your dreams, won't you?"

"Yes," the doppelganger agreed distractedly, and without sparing a single glance for the pliant Malkith still reclining at his feet Phendrana turned his back on the languid scene and focused solely on reaching the door. The deep breath he took the moment he was on the other side felt like his first real intake of oxygen since before he had entered the wretched place; he gulped the sweet air down greedily, as though he had never truly breathed before.

The moment the door snapped shut behind him Lim shook off the three maidens and padded across the chamber to the bath, parting the heavy drapes with an annoyed swipe of one arm; by that time Hadrhune had joined Rapha in the steaming pool and they were talking together in low voices. Both looked up curiously when they spotted Lim in the doorway.

"The doppelganger?" Hadrhune growled, his voice a low rumble of distinct disapproval. "Really?"

"Yet another means to an end," Lim assured him with a negligent wave of one hand, and though he was scarcely clothed he made no move to join the two shades and their giggling serving girls in the bath. "I am not certain what he hoped to accomplish in coming here, truth be told. I shall have to keep an eye on that one."

Ever-observant Hadrhune surveyed Lim with his all-knowing gaze silently for a moment before saying, "You are not staying."

"No – actually I have an errand to run, and I haven't another second to waste here. It's good that the doppelganger chose to leave when he did – he would surely have come to question me when I made an excuse to slip away."

The seneschal sat up a little straighter, his amber eyes probing Lim's for the true meaning behind his words; even Rapha couldn't pretend to be uninterested now. "Where will you go?"

Lim wrestled back into the arms of his robes and cinched the sash a little more firmly around his waist, his eyes glittering with barely-contained excitement. "The palace. There is a chance that that which I have been waiting for these long weeks has at last fallen into my midst. I must make haste."

---

It was well past midnight when Aglarel felt decent enough to call upon Aveil; had he sought anyone else's company he might have waited until morning, but the Sceptrana slept barely more than he did and he suspected that she might still be awake given the nature of the days' many activities. He shadow walked right onto her balcony with a mind to peek around the curtain – if she was asleep he would let her rest, he decided, for she was mortal still and so much weaker than he. He was mildly surprised to find her awake still, curled up on the chaise lounge in one corner of her bedchamber and reading a book by candlelight. He cleared his throat and stepped around the curtain.

Aveil looked up, her face suggesting she was somewhat annoyed with the interruption, but when she recognized her guest she laid her book aside and hastened to her feet so that she could offer a polite little bow. When she straightened it was to find that Aglarel hadn't moved an inch, still standing just inside the curtain as though uncertain what to say to her – it was quite unlike him, and succeeded in stoking her suspicion. Aglarel was seldom without words, and when he was it made her feel uneasy.

"The High Prince said you came looking for me," he pointed out, his voice emotionless, and Aveil's eyes dropped to her bare feet.

The grisly images of Aglarel torturing the unfortunate drow down in the dungeons replayed themselves behind her eyelids, disturbing enough to make her want to keep her eyes open and never sleep again – surely such nightmarish events would plague her dreams if she did. "You had been about your work for quite some time. I… was worried."

The uncharacteristic hesitancy in her voice was such that Aglarel didn't reprimand her; his voice was soft and unthreatening. "You had no reason to worry. I was in complete control of myself."

Aveil moved away from the chaise lounge and rounded the study desk to light a few more candles despite the fact that there seemed to be plenty of light in the room; Aglarel suspected she only did this to occupy both her hands and her mind for a moment in a bid to regain some of her lost composure. The match she struck illuminated her face, stark white beneath the heavy curtain of her jet-black hair which she had pinned back out of her eyes; the gown she wore was simple and white, halter-style and empire-waisted, floating gracefully about her voluptuous body with even the slightest movement. The fingers of her right hand twitched as she manipulated the match, as though even the simplest movement caused her injured arm some agony, but she was careful to keep the pain from entering her eyes.

She was always so careful to keep from showing any emotion around him that he wondered if he really knew her at all, and for some reason that singular thought vexed him more than the hours he had spent interrogating Zek Vandree ever could. He opened his mouth to question her, to stumble through some gruff, uncharacteristic show of concern that he was certain wouldn't seem in the least bit sincere, when she looked at him with wide, sad eyes and said, "Were you?"

Knowing that she had seen him in his most instinctually violent state made him feel both angry and ashamed. "You saw."

"Only for a moment." Her eyes were focused wholly on the unlit wick of the candle she meant to light; the match she held was burning down and the little flame had to be singeing her fingertips, but she didn't react in any way. "I thought you might need assistance."

"You thought I might not be able to handle my charge," Aglarel corrected darkly.

The wick caught and fire flared; Aveil pursed her lips and blew out the match, dropping it absentmindedly upon the wooden surface of the desk. Aglarel's eyes flitted to the thin tendril of smoke that wafted off of it until it dissipated completely. "I wanted to see for myself what you would do to him. I was curious."

Aglarel had expected to hear anything but that. "You thought I would kill him."

Aveil stood facing him now, the candlelight casting half her face in a flattering golden glow and the other half in deepening shadow. "Didn't you?"

"No," Aglarel snapped tersely, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he admitted, "I should have."

"You did the right thing, leaving him alive," Aveil disagreed, though her voice was anything but argumentative in that moment. "We will need all the information we can glean from him if we are to gain the upper hand in this predicament – maybe more than he has to offer. Who will answer our questions if he is dead?"

One corner of Aglarel's lips twitched up involuntarily when he said, "It seems he will be little help to us alive – toward the end I was not particularly careful with him, and instead of bartering whatever information I thought he might have been withholding in exchange for his life he simply begged me to show mercy. He knows nothing of value."

Aveil's delicate shudder was her only response to these words, but to Aglarel it spoke volumes. He started toward her slowly, his eyes fixed upon the shadowsilk dressing bound tightly around her arm, asking, "How is it?"

The Sceptrana stood very still, though it seemed to Aglarel that her body grew a little more rigid as he neared. "It does not bother me so much. It will not impede my duties."

He paused only a foot from her, his eyes searching her face for any hint of emotion. It frustrated him to no end that she had learned to master her emotional excesses with time – she used to be an open book, and now he was left guessing at her true thoughts. He supposed that was how she felt about him the majority of the time – perhaps she had learned to conceal her feelings simply by observing him. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to chastise her, and found himself grasping at the first excuse he could think of. "Why in the Nine Hells did you put yourself in that drow's way today? What were you thinking? Did you even once stop to consider the consequences had you failed?"

"We knew you were the drow's true target," Aveil explained, as though the answer should be obvious to him. "It stood to reason that if I impersonated you I could waylay him. Things progressed as easily as I could have hoped." She paused to flex her arm then, wincing, and added, "Well, almost."

Aglarel snarled suddenly, his ceremonial fangs glistening ominously in the semi-darkness. "You are under no circumstances permitted to intervene in such a way ever again. Do you understand?"

Aveil's chin jerked up haughtily, and for a split second the old Aveil was back – headstrong, abrasive, passionate. "Why? My methods were effective."

"Your methods were entirely too risky. You might have gotten yourself killed."

"But I didn't," she protested fiercely, hot violet fires dancing in the depths of her eyes as her anger mounted, and Aglarel was possessed with the wild urge to goad her into an even stronger reaction. This impulsive and rash Aveil was a creature he understood – he didn't just need her reactions to understand, he craved them. Conflict was something he could comprehend.

"I said I forbid it," Aglarel demanded, his voice low and authoritative, and though he could feel the opposition rolling off her in waves Aveil bit down on her bottom lip and managed to stem the flow of her swiftly mounting tirade. The Fourth Prince privately admitted that this disappointed him. "You are an emissary of the High Prince and thus not expendable. Do not forget that." She fell silent, brooding darkly, and for whatever reason Aglarel recalled something important then. "Tomorrow is the bridal masquerade."

Aveil's brow creased with something unreadable as she considered that; Aglarel knew without a doubt that she was remembering Phendrana's prophecy. "I know."

The words rolled off Aglarel's tongue before he'd even had time to consider them. "Are you afraid?"

He knew she was in the way that her teeth ground down upon her bottom lip again. A hollow echo of the doppelganger's words rattled around in Aglarel's memory then, haunting him, and he found himself similarly uneasy for the fate that awaited Aveil. Could it be thwarted, as all the others had been thus far? Were there always preventative measures one could take to alter the course of destiny? Or were some predetermined events simply unavoidable?

"No," Aveil said in a soft, introspective voice that didn't have Aglarel entirely convinced.

"I will be there with you," he reminded her, questioning his own words even as he spoke them aloud.

Aveil looked into his eyes then, searching for something he was loathe to name; she must have found whatever she was looking for, because whatever it was prompted her to say, "I know you will be. That's why I'm not afraid."

Aglarel gazed back at her for a moment, unsure of just what to say. He knew his stare must have been as intense as always, but for some reason Aveil did not look away.

"You should sleep," he told her at last. "Gather yourself for what tomorrow has in store. We will weather the storm when it comes, as we have done before." And then he was gone as abruptly as he had come, the shadow particles stirred up from his sudden departure blanketing the carpet beneath her bare feet.

"Yes, Prince," Aveil answered compliantly, fully aware that he wouldn't hear.

---

The lateness of the hour was such that Lim wasn't as cautious as he should have been when he entered the palace – even the High Prince and his guard dog Aglarel would surely be abed at this hour, he reasoned to himself, and he could come and go without fear of being discovered. He shadow walked right into the sublevel of the castle and slunk close to a wall, hardly bothered by the lack of light – he was as much a creature of darkness as the Shadovar were, no matter how many years he spent upon the surface world. The guards stationed further down the hallway monitoring the entrance to the dungeons were of little concern to him – he snuck right by them on foot, his every step soundless, his shade's body one with the darkness that the Shadovar always seemed so comforted by. If only they knew the other things that lurked unseen in the shadows, he thought bemusedly to himself.

He was sure-footed on the stairs, his vision shifting effortlessly into the thermal spectrum as he made his way down; he paused briefly when he reached the dungeons, his eyes sweeping the cells for any signs of life, but after noting that they were all empty he descended the last stone staircase into the chamber where the Princes of Shade – namely Aglarel – performed interrogations at the High Prince's command. Aglarel hadn't left that long ago, he reasoned – the faintly acrid scent of a recently-burned candle still hung in the air but it was extinguished now, leaving the chamber eerily dark and silent as the inside of a grave.

He stood motionless for a few heartbeats, his eyes taking in the heat signatures of blood cooling upon the floor at the prisoner's feet and the only slightly warmer heat still emanating from the bound captive's body, and then one eye opened in the other drow's face and Lim shifted his sight back into the light spectrum. He couldn't deny even to himself that the sight of all that blood was disturbing, and some part of him even nurtured a begrudging sort of respect for Aglarel and his morbid work.

The single eye was a burnt shade of burgundy, luminous even in the darkness as all drow's eyes were; the light was dull, as though the captive was not so alive as he used to be. When he spoke his voice was an odd gurgle, and given the amount of blood caking the drow's robes Lim thought he understood why. "You… you're Lim Tal'eyve, aren't you? The drow who escaped Lolth's imprisonment."

Lim spread his arms and offered a mocking little bow, never one to let any excuse for fanfare pass him by. "You've found me out, it seems – I am indeed him. And did I hear your name right? Zek Vandree?"

"Did you hear it from the mouth of the prince who tortured me?" Zek spoke the word prince like an expletive that burned his tongue on its way out. "You forsake your own kind and fall in with these butchers? What could you have possibly gained?"

"All sorts of useful things," Lim admitted, hardly guilted by the other drow's scathing remarks. "Power, for one, something I have been sincerely lacking in since the Spider Queen stole the lichdom from my body. Prestige – the bounty of the Princes of Shade is generous when they feel they benefit from your company, and rest assured Most High Telamont will be reaping the rewards of placing his trust in me soon enough. I doubt you have ever received even so much as an expression of gratitude in all the years you've served the Matron Mother of House Baenre, am I right? I could go on, but I sense that your question might have been rhetorical and I have a very limited amount of time set aside to chat with you, I'm afraid."

Zek slumped in his chair – Lim knew it by the protesting clank of his steel manacles – though the hatred and revulsion in his single eye diminished not at all. "So it's true then – the trading of your mortal soul wasn't just a show of loyalty. You really have taken up with these shadow devils against your own people… against your own goddess."

Lim barked out a disbelieving laugh. "I assure you I am just as faithful to her now as I was in the very beginning." Then his laughter was rolling out of him in waves, its volume barely contained as he found mirth in the double meaning of his words, and all the while Zek Vandree continued to glare at him with poison in his gaze. "Yes, I truly mean to destroy the Spider Queen – and if I get my way I will not stop there. Now – given your opposition to my course I can only assume that you do not have anything for me?"

"What?" Zek blinked once, his confusion apparent, and Lim heaved a disappointed sigh.

"I thought as much," Lim mused regretfully, "though I cannot say I am particularly surprised. If you had come here seeking me out, I suspect you would have held up a little better under torture. I have heard tell of your cowardice – it is being said that you sobbed like a child."

He hadn't heard any such thing, of course, but it was easy to surmise how right he was just by looking into Zek's hateful eye. "And what was I meant to have brought you?"

"Oh, nothing," Lim told him dismissively. "Clearly you aren't the one, and the delicate nature of what I seek is such that I find myself unwilling to share it with anyone. Is more of your kind coming, or am I foolish to keep hoping?"

Zek's single eye narrowed, this time with malicious amusement. "Oh, they're coming," he promised in a steely tone. "The Spider Queen herself guides Quartana's hand and imparts her will upon her. When she gets here, nothing will stop her from sacrificing you to Lolth and ending your miserable, traitorous existence once and for all."

The length of Lim's sojourn from the Underdark was such that the name Quartana meant absolutely nothing to him, but he suspected that even if it had he would hardly be concerned with it. Whether from Phendrana's own mouth or the mouth of one of his trusted allies he would hear of the doppelganger's next vision, and he would plan accordingly. Lolth's emissaries had been getting the drop on the rest of the High Prince's trusted advisors, but they wouldn't catch him at unawares.

"She is welcome to try," Lim offered cordially, but then he shrugged his shoulders as though bored and Zek knew without asking that their conversation was swiftly approaching its end. "Well, Zek Vandree, I have enjoyed our chat – you have been most accommodating, whether that was your intention or not. It was my intention to let you live if you proved of no use to me, but I seem to have grown fond of you. I suppose I will grant you one last kindness – we are kin, after all."

Lim Tal'eyve took a page out of Phendrana's own book then, and crushed Zek Vandree's windpipe with the sheer force of his own mind until the drow was still and lifeless in his blood-soaked chair.