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.

14. The Second Union

It was a mild burning sensation that at last dragged Lim Tal'eyve back to consciousness.

The moment he opened his bleary eyes he winced and shut them again; there was a candelabra standing just beside him, the wicks of each softened candle blazing, and his light-sensitive drow's eyes were not prepared for even that amount of illumination. He cracked his eyes open a fraction a little more cautiously this time, tracing the tarnished bronze of the tall candelabra up to the highest reaches of the vaulted ceiling overhead. No light filtered through the unusually colored windows – how could it, when the world he had chosen to inhabit was nearly as bleak and lightless as the one in which he had been born? – but still he perceived the myriad of colors of glass and knew instantly where he was. Stained glass windows were not overly popular within the City of Shade - only the Church of Shar boasted such construction.

The candles were sputtering, flecking droplets of white-hot wax onto his bare chest; Lim flexed his arms with the intention of protecting himself but found them bound fast over his head, and it seemed his legs had been similarly restrained. The surface upon which he lay was horribly uncomfortable – was it an uncovered table, or simply a plank of wood? – and his back ached, but not half so much as the dull throb emanating from the back of his head. The pain jogged his memory and he recalled with a begrudging admiration that he had been caught completely at unawares, and that wasn't something that happened often. There was no doubt in his mind who had apprehended him.

Lim turned his head with some difficulty, his vision slowly clearing as his eyes adjusted to the candlelight and the heavy manacles around his wrists clanking in protest. The only other person in the room was facing away from him, meticulously arranging various trinkets and amulets upon a crudely constructed altar. He was familiar enough with Phendrana's vision of these events to know that the circumstances he had been warned about were at last upon him. "Ah, you must be the lovely Quartana Baenre. I have so longed to make your acquaintance."

She turned back and struck him, the ornate ring upon her middle finger splitting his lip, and Lim tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Her obvious physical beauty coupled with the blatant hatred with which she regarded him transported him back years, to the days he had spent writhing in eternal agony at the torturous hands of the Spider Queen herself – for a moment he despaired, a cloud of doubt shrouding his thoughts as the prospect of being delivered there yet again, but he reminded himself that this priestess was no deity and commanded no such power over him. Quartana gazed down at him with abject loathing through her thick lashes, terrifying and sensual all at once. "I can only imagine how you managed to come by my name, traitor. Explain yourself. It is the least you can do to repay the Spider Queen for your inexcusable trespasses against her."

Though he was rather of the opinion that he owed nothing to the cursed Lolth or her blindly devoted underlings, Lim obliged her for the sake of conversation – the ever-prickly nature of that most faithful sect of drow females had long been his single greatest source of amusement. "I ripped it from the throat of Zek Vandree before I killed him." Which, of course, was an outright lie – the name had been deliberately dropped from Phendrana's tongue during his obviously-scripted visit to Rapha's harem, but in this case the truth wasn't nearly as entertaining.

Quartana's nostrils flared, for she was clearly enraged by his words, but in the depths of her crimson eyes Lim thought he glimpsed the barest trace of fear – it was an evident sign that her goddess' carefully-laid plans were perhaps not as foolproof as her emissary believed. In an effort to hide her moment of doubt she slapped him again, but such was Lim's enjoyment of her reaction that he scarcely felt the pain this time. Almost immediately afterward she seized his chin in one hand and jerked his head back around, forcing him to look her in the eye when she snarled, "You despicable cretin. You slaughter your kin for these shadow dwellers? You are no better than a dog, unthinkingly doing the bidding of your masters, chasing their heels and begging for morsels. Do you think they appreciate your efforts? Do you think your accomplishments will keep them from disposing of you when your usefulness has run its course?"

This observation hardly concerned Lim, whose intricate plans to elevate himself from useful to irreplaceable had long since been set into motion. "I might ask the same of you, Mistress Baenre. What do you expect to gain from your goddess in eliminating me?"

Predictably Quartana bristled as though his inquiry had mortally offended her. "My motivations are no concern of yours."

"Then you can hardly expect me to share my own," Lim replied simply, and he might have shrugged negligently had his arms not been bound over his head.

The drow priestess put him at her back again, busying herself about the altar; Lim caught intermittent glimpses of more candles, shards of obsidian, pinches of various alchemical ingredients, and smears of blood from some creature that had been unfortunate enough to cross Quartana's path. "It matters not," she told him loftily. "Shortly I will have finished all the necessary preparations, and then Lolth will receive your shadow orb and we will be rid of you and your treacherous ways for good and all. So enjoy these last few minutes of your life, traitor, for the moment draws near!"

"Oh I assure you," whispered Lim Tal'eyve in a dangerous and confident tone that sent a chill running down the priestess' spine, "I will enjoy the next few minutes immensely, but the life that ends shall not be mine!"

---

The damage to the ballroom was too widespread and extensive to be repaired in a single day, so the wedding reception was instead contained to the palace grounds. Members of the Lower Court wandered the well-manicured lawns at a leisurely pace, conjuring soft faerie lights in the shrubberies and trees and giving the grounds a mystical glow; others fetched candles and enchanted them to float off the ground, the illumination soft and intimate. There was gentle music emanating from somewhere though there were no musicians to be found, and a grand feast had been brought directly out from the palace kitchens to the candlelit terrace – the mouthwatering scents of roasted duck and seared salmon mingled with the subtle and sweet fragrance of the night-blooming flowers, creating a most inviting atmosphere.

"You might at the very least pretend you are enjoying yourself," murmured Lamorak over the rim of his wine glass, and the sound of the prince's voice dragged Phendrana from his state of reverie; they were standing beneath the gently-waving leaves of a great exotic tree the doppelganger was unfamiliar with, and Phendrana had been silently scanning the faces in the nearby crowds with a downcast and brooding expression. He glanced unwillingly in Lamorak's direction when addressed - the faerie lights in the lowest boughs cast the Third Prince's face in hues of lavender and gold, a striking combination. Then again, there wasn't anything about the prince's formal dress and bejeweled crown that spoke otherwise.

"I am enjoying myself." Almost as an afterthought the doppelganger took a modest sip of Netherese heartwine; he had been holding the glass for a quarter of an hour and had almost forgotten it was in his hand.

"You are miles away," Lamorak argued, crossing his arms, idly swilling the contents of his glass with small but pronounced circles of his wrist. "You will displease the bride if she finds you in such a state of unease. What is it that troubles you so? Are you concerned for her well being? Or perhaps the drow's? Or is it your unresolved personal matters that plague your thoughts?"

Phendrana didn't immediately reply, for his eyes had strayed to the place across the courtyard where Twelfth Prince Brennus had joined a close-knit group of nobles from the Upper Court and was sharing a word with them; they hung on his every word as he regaled them with some amusing tale, and appropriately laughed at its conclusion. Brennus chuckled bemusedly and drank of his goblet, the candlelight glinting off his silver crown of amber and topaz and lighting up his eyes; he turned his head minutely then and caught the doppelganger's openly intrigued gaze, the molten quality of his bronze eyes flashing heat through Phendrana's veins.

Lamorak audibly sighed and turned away, venturing out from beneath the dome-shaped canopy with a sudden stiffness to his posture; Phendrana tore his eyes away from the youngest prince and pursued him in two quick strides, seizing him at the elbow. The look in his eye suggested that he had startled himself with his own unplanned movements. "Forgive me. I have no excuses for my rudeness."

"You have one very obvious excuse for your rudeness," Lamorak corrected him coldly, the absence of the faerie lights bringing a frosty and unwelcoming quality to his eyes. "I had thought you smarter than this, Phendrana."

The insult to his intelligence stung profoundly; Phendrana winced and released the prince's arm. "I'm not certain I know what you are referring to."

Lamorak took a step that brought him inside Phendrana's comfort zone, forcing the doppelganger to look him in the eye; his sudden intensity, coupled with his characteristic clinical expression, served to claim Phendrana's undivided attention at last. "I can understand your reservations here, my friend – you remember my words and you wish to keep me at arm's length, but you have misunderstood the context of them. You think me guilty of vying for your attentions? You view me as unwanted competition? If that is your opinion I can hardly convince you otherwise, but I feel compelled to warn you – the man whose affections you seek does not have the High Prince's favor, and he is here for appearances sake only. Were circumstances different he would be under lock and key at Villa Tareia, just as he was for weeks following your return from Castle Tethyr. Not only that, but he betrayed your trust – he forsook you in your time of greatest need. Yet with all these things in mind you would forgive him?"

Phendrana opened his mouth vehemently, teetering on the brink of defending Brennus to the last, but upon further inspection of Lamorak's words he found himself appropriately speechless. There was no integrity to be found in taking the loremaster's side here – all that Lamorak had said was true, no matter how much Phendrana wished otherwise. He understood the motivations behind the Twelfth Prince's decisions much better now, given all that Brennus had divulged the night previous, but did those confessions erase the emotional discord he had caused? If he shelved all of his anger and confusion and heartache, would he be the fool Lamorak was insinuating he was? Abruptly his indecision infuriated him and he growled through his clenched teeth, a rabid animal, a man possessed.

"What's in it for you?" he demanded in a low voice, determined despite his anger not to draw attention away from the bride and groom, who were not as far away as he would like. "Why do you concern yourself with my well being? When did my personal affairs become your business? What will you lose if I allow Brennus back into my heart and he breaks it again? What do you stand to gain if I renounce him?"

The Third Prince's hand clenched down around Phendrana's wrist with enough force to make the doppelganger wince, a silent and not-so-subtle warning that he was overstepping his bounds with every passing accusation. "Be careful, friend. You speak of matters beyond your station."

"You call me friend," Phendrana pressed stubbornly, "yet still you treat me like a child."

That brought Lamorak up short; he did not release Phendrana's wrist, but his grip slackened considerably. There was something in his eyes that suggested he had not been entirely truthful but was mulling over the idea of divulging something more, and at length he said, "You should be more wary of the truth, Phendrana. It is not always beneficial to know all."

"What do you mean?" the mindmaster demanded, and Lamorak let out a heavy, defeated sigh.

"I am protecting you, you simpleton – surely you have gathered that much? And not simply from my tactless youngest brother, though I am certain you assume as much – no, I am protecting you from yourself, and from the High Prince as well. The predicament you landed yourself in those months ago is more delicate than you can comprehend, and not just for Brennus, of that you can be certain. Do you know how close you came to death? Do you know how closely you flirt with death still?" At last he released Phendrana's wrist and the doppelganger stumbled back a step, his expression appropriately alarmed, and crossing his arms Lamorak finished bluntly, "I thought not. But how could you? You are consumed by the wrongs you have suffered. You are blinded by the lofty accolades the High Prince has bestowed upon you. You do not realize that your safety is not yet assured."

"But how can you possibly - ?" Phendrana began earnestly, but the Third Prince cut him short.

"Are you really so narrow-minded that you think the High Prince enlisted me for the sole purpose of studying the mental abilities your transformation enhanced?" Lamorak hissed, his eyes darting all around to ensure they wouldn't be overheard, and at long last Phendrana understood the Third Prince's dedication to him after all this time.

"The Most High charged you with monitoring my movements," he observed, eyes and voice both similarly hollow. "You acted as his eyes while he ensured that I kept away from Brennus."

"While he ensured that you followed his mandate to the letter," Lamorak corrected breathlessly, and Phendrana found himself steadily backing away from him in horror.

"All this time we have been opposing Lim, assuming our actions were cunning enough to keep us from incurring the High Prince's wrath, but he knew." Phendrana couldn't recall a time he had ever felt so foolish, or so terrified. "He has always known." How could he have been so blind as to assume that they were clever enough to avoid scrutiny? How could they have dared to defy the High Prince's orders and hope that their betrayals would go unnoticed? "What will happen to us?"

Lamorak was keeping his distance but holding his hands up, palms forward, doing his best to appear unthreatening. "You are safe for the time being."

"How is that possible?" Phendrana snarled through gritted teeth, trying and failing to rein in his anger before it got the better of him. He knew how dangerous this was, venting his frustrations to the man who had only just proclaimed himself the High Prince's informant, but the sting of this revelation had cut him deeper than he could ever have imagined it would. He had known all along that getting close to another of the Most High's retainers was an ill-advised decision, but he hadn't heeded his own advice. He had thought Lamorak a more trustworthy sort. "I saw Brennus last night. I spoke to him. That interaction is surely enough to condemn me."

"The High Prince is unaware of any such meeting," Lamorak divulged, his eyes wide and pleading, his hands outstretched as though to soothe the doppelganger's troubles. "I have not brought it to his attention, nor was it my intention to do so. As I have said, you flirt more closely with death than you realize. One word from me now is all it would take for the High Prince to utterly destroy you."

"Then be done with it!" Phendrana bellowed, incensed, and a dozen nobles of the Upper Court whirled to investigate the disturbance. "Do not presume to – "

But the rest of his outburst was lost as suddenly Lamorak's eyes flashed, white and dangerous, and frozen under that glare Phendrana found he was powerless to protest the Third Prince's advance; Lamorak closed the distance between them and seized the doppelganger at the elbow, dragging him around the trunk of the great tree and toward the rear-facing garden, abandoned now since the ceremony had come to a close. Once certain they were alone Lamorak released him, though it was clear in his manic eyes that he was hardly less infuriated than before. "You will bring about your own demise if you cannot hold your tongue," he growled, his voice a low warning. "As I have said, it is not my intention to tell the High Prince of your meeting with Brennus… But only if you can promise it was an isolated incident, and not something you are prepared to repeat!"

"Why would you help me?" Phendrana demanded. "If the Most High catches wind that you have assisted me… You will be no better off if he finds out you have been withholding the truth!"

"How could I possibly bring you down now?" Lamorak echoed incredulously, waving his arms as if to indicate the bigger picture. "It is all on account of you and your visions that we have been so successful in staving off the advances of these drow assassins – the loss of even one member of the Shadow Court would be a catastrophic occurrence that would surely upset the delicate balance upon which we have established what remains of our society! The High Prince's retribution is swift and oftentimes thoughtless – when he is wronged he acts purely out of vengeance, and he would surely act thusly were he to learn of your trespasses. You cannot know how key your arrival into our midst has been, because there is a great deal that transpires beyond your notice, but you must trust me when I say that our entire way of life would be at risk were we to lose you now. That is why I have held my tongue thus far, and why I will take the risk in keeping your silence."

Phendrana ran a hand down his face in pure frustration, caught somewhere between eternal gratitude and all-consuming rage. "You have been using me to glimpse the future," he pointed out, his voice a challenge, as though he dared the Third Prince to argue this point. "That has always been your aim."

"The High Prince commanded me to befriend you, and to encourage you to divulge your visions as they happened," Lamorak confessed readily. "But is that so wrong? We are all that remains of the once-proud Netherese Empire… Were you the ruler of the last handful of such men, and you found your entire way of life threatened by enemies whose gazes seemed all-knowing, would you not use every advantage at your disposal?"

With those words Phendrana felt the last of his anger begrudgingly ebb away, for he knew the answer to Lamorak's question. It was another one of the things he had always known, for from the first moment he had set foot within Thultanthar he had been certain of his purpose there – to serve the Princes of Shade in all things, even if the thing that so served their designs was the surrender of his own life. Such was simply the nature of his goodly and self-sacrificing character – he couldn't rationally cling to his anger, when he had willingly offered himself up to serve such schemes from the very start. The realization that Lamorak had never truly been his friend was despairing, and he was immediately ashamed of how easy he had been to fool. At length he sighed and said, "Then our arrangement was simply a means to an end for you."

"No." This wasn't the answer the doppelganger had been expecting, and he couldn't help but look up; Lamorak was standing before him with a steely, self-loathing glint in his eye and a resigned expression upon his face, though otherwise he appeared quite calm. "I will admit that at first I was content to simply do the High Prince's bidding, but I allowed myself to become too involved with you; your silent battle with the drow, your reluctant partnership with Aglarel and Aveil, your opposition to Lim Tal'eyve… everything that you do fascinates me." His eyes glazed over as he recalled something from the not-so-distant past, his obvious interest more than a little eerie to behold. "To observe how your mind works is intoxicating… Never have I had the supreme privilege of studying anything quite like it before. That is how I know that you are irreplaceable to our sovereign, Phendrana. That is how I know that I must keep this secret for you, if I can."

"I have never been more than a curious specimen to you," observed the doppelganger with a wry smile, "have I?"

Lamorak shrugged sheepishly. "Perhaps more than that. Were you a curious specimen to me, I would surely have given you up to the High Prince by now."

There was no reason not to be grateful for what Lamorak had done, for his reasons weren't entirely selfish from what Phendrana could see; he accepted that for now he was safe, and decided to probe for more information while the option remained open to him. "What will become of Aglarel and Aveil? The High Prince must know that they have been working against Lim since he came here, despite the fact that he has our sovereign's approval."

The Third Prince crossed his arms and smirked victoriously – whatever he was about to divulge obviously pleased him greatly. "Lim is not as well informed as he thinks he is. Yes, the High Prince knows that Aglarel and Aveil have been opposing the drow at every turn, but he is hardly angry – on the contrary, he is grateful for their bravery and their diligence. Our sovereign is not as easy to sway as Lim thinks – to put it plainly the High Prince is still highly skeptical of their arrangement, and is hardly inclined to favor the drow's cause over that of one of his son's."

"They still believe their actions have gone unnoticed," Phendrana pointed out, and Lamorak nodded in agreement.

"And the High Prince wants them to keep acting on that assumption. Can you imagine how they might react if they knew the Most High was aware of their insubordination? They would take great care, and that is not what our sovereign needs – he needs their intuitiveness, their recklessness, their willingness to take chances to get results. He needs them to question Lim Tal'eyve at every juncture, because he knows no one else will."

There was no denying that the High Prince's foresight was astounding. "Then they will not suffer any punishment." Phendrana hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until the moment it escaped him in a rush, and he felt relieved. He had come to value Aglarel and Aveil's company more than he had guessed.

"If they hold to their current course they will remain blameless," Lamorak corrected meticulously, leaving nothing to chance. "There are many courses the future can take, Phendrana – but you know that better than anyone by now, don't you?"

Phendrana cracked an unwilling smile but it vanished just as quickly as it had come; a frown crossed his face when he mused, "Then it truly is over between Brennus and me, isn't it? The High Prince's wrath in this instance will never abate. We are destined to live our lives apart."

Lamorak shrugged and dropped his gaze to the petal-strewn ground, mumbling, "I cannot say."

Phendrana hadn't realized he had backed up to the first row of benches until he collapsed into one, feeling suddenly exhausted; across from him Lamorak was watching him sadly, rolling a violet clematis bloom between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand absentmindedly. The joyful sounds of the wedding reception echoed off the western face of the palace but the dark cloud of Phendrana's despair seemed to keep the jubilation from really reaching them; Lamorak didn't approach but chose to walk away, his eyes downcast and his thoughts sympathetic but resolute. He had vowed the High Prince that he would guide Phendrana down the path most favorable to them, and unfortunately that path was not the same one his youngest brother currently walked. Whether or not it would be at some point in the future, even the calculating Third Prince of Shade could only guess – he could only hope that the doppelganger continued to heed the wishes of their sovereign, not only for his sake but for everyone's.

Phendrana remained where he was, struggling with the difference between right and wrong and fraught with guilt at the notion of letting go; in the distance, the sounds of celebration filled the air like unbidden, discordant music.

---

Lamorak did his best to blend back in with the milling crowds of nobles, but his reappearance did not escape the notice of everyone; barely a handful of seconds had passed before he felt pressure at his elbow and heard an urgent voice in his ear: "A word, if I might."

There were witnesses all around, laughing gaily and partaking of the High Prince's lavish feast and fawning over the newly crowned Princess of Thultanthar; with a smile frozen upon his face and his gaze fixed stubbornly forward the Determinist Prime murmured back, "Now would hardly seem an appropriate time for this, don't you agree?"

"This may be the only opportunity I have left." The regret resonating in that blunt reply sent a chill down Lamorak's spine, and nodding once solemnly he allowed himself to be led to a much more secluded stretch of the lawn, where turning he found Brennus standing before him. For a moment he appeared to be himself again, quiet intelligence and optimism shining in his features, but then he smiled and that singular bleak expression served to shatter the façade. It brought to mind what Lamorak had thought all along, that his youngest brother was more broken as a result of the doppelganger's transformation than even Phendrana himself.

"You needn't worry," he found himself saying, and though Lamorak had always been on amiable terms with Brennus even he was surprised by the sincerity behind his sympathetic words – he wasn't ruled by his emotions like the Twelfth Prince was, nor was he completely devoid of sentiment like some of his kin. Logic ruled his life, facts and reason and things he could see and touch. "I will take care of him."

Brennus waved a hand negligently and barked out a hoarse, brittle laugh. "You don't need to assure me of that – I already have all the assurance I need. You have been taking care of him since the moment I lost the ability to do so myself, whether or not that was your intention."

Lamorak held his tongue on that matter, saying only, "You are very kind. The High Prince will remember as much before long, of that I am certain."

"Thank you," said Brennus softly, flashing another of those disheartened smiles, "for that generous lie, brother."

"The High Prince won't learn of last night's meeting from me." Lamorak wasn't certain why he felt so compelled to tell Brennus this. "You have my word, and I have already told Phendrana as much."

"I suspect that will hardly matter in the end – the Most High has ways of unearthing secrets, ways that make such verbal declarations seem obsolete." The loremaster's eyes were upon his mostly-empty glass of heartwine, his expression bitter and hateful; Lamorak found himself longing for the youngest prince's optimism, and briefly wondered if that was one of the things Brennus had lost. "He longs to be rid of me – not that I can blame him at this point. With my irredeemable offenses I have utterly failed him. I singlehandedly violated our most sacred tradition, the tradition upon which our entire civilization was founded. For what I have done, there can be no retribution."

Lamorak could think of the single contradiction to the loremaster's own words. "Phendrana may yet be your salvation. Because of the ring, his mind is keener than ever before – with its enchantments he saved Hadrhune's life, though even he cannot explain how he managed to do it."

The pride Brennus felt was evident in his face, as radiant as if the victory had been his own. "Yes. I watched him reinforce the shield Aveil had conjured – he was somehow able to make his mental energies tangible, and with that he protected us from harm." He chuckled indulgently then, momentarily awed by the limitless possibilities, and added, "If you devoted the rest of your life to researching his mind, I am confident that even then you would have barely scratched the surface of his capabilities. If the ring's enchantments don't unravel, and he continues to wear it, there is no reason why his powers won't continue to grow."

"And it is precisely for that reason that I believe the High Prince will spare you in the end," Lamorak pointed out diplomatically. "There is no denying that, at this rate, Phendrana will become stronger than any of us."

"Then he will destroy us both," said Brennus with a helpless little shrug, "and see to it that his power is never challenged."

Lamorak thought this was both an immature and radical view of the future, and couldn't help but suggest as much aloud. "Phendrana is blindly devoted to the High Prince, and to the advancement of Thultanthar – he believes that fate brought him here to help us achieve all that we desire and more, and that this is the higher calling he has longed his whole life for. I hardly think that the High Prince would ever think to dispose of such an irreplaceable ally... Nor do I think he would ever seriously consider eliminating one of his own sons, for that matter."

"We will see," was Brennus's vague reply, and he tipped the last swallow of his heartwine onto his tongue.

"It isn't only that." Lamorak's tone had distinctly changed, become intense and brooding; Brennus looked up in time to follow the Third Prince's gaze to one of the gazebos nestled within the quaint flora and fauna, where Aglarel and Aveil were entertaining twin princes Mattick and Vattick. As they watched Aglarel actually laughed aloud at something Mattick had said, and unwillingly it seemed Aveil's eyes slid sideways to watch him; there was a quiet fondness in the expression she wore when she looked upon him that made Brennus's insides feel warm with happiness, something he couldn't honestly say he had felt in many moons. "Phendrana's companionship has curious influences on people. His involvement in these affairs of late has strengthened many ties with the Shadow Court that before were tenuous or perhaps nonexistent. It could be that he is destined to become the point around which we rally, the one who unites us, encourages us to cast down our enemies and lead the last remnants of the Netherese Empire to a glorious new age. And if such a chain of events comes to pass, who will we have to thank?"

"Phendrana, obviously," said Brennus flatly, rolling his eyes skyward as if the answer should be obvious.

"No," corrected the Determinist Prime insistently. "You – the man who risked everything to save him. Never forget, brother, that if it wasn't for you he would not be here."

Brennus dropped his gaze to his empty wine glass, momentarily humbled into silence, and Lamorak allowed himself the ghost of a smile at his youngest brother's expense. The High Prince's qualm with Brennus's snap decision had never been the breaking of a centuries-long tradition, as the loremaster had always believed, but a question of how Phendrana's premature transformation from mortal to shade would effect the potency of his mental abilities. If it could be proved over time that the doppelganger was thriving, not struggling, Lamorak was confident that Brennus would eventually receive a full pardon and be welcomed back into the Shadow Court with open arms. The Mind of the Most High was arguably their most powerful weapon now – for all their strengths, the Princes of Shade could not say they had ever been gifted with the ability to glimpse even fragments of the future.

"Tell me," the Twelfth Prince began at length, his voice calmer now, his face serene. "What has he seen that has yet to come to pass?"

The question served as a grim reminder for Lamorak that despite the concerns they had discussed there were even graver events looming on the horizon; instinctively he scanned the milling crowds, his eye drawn easily to Escanor and his towering frame, and felt a bolt of terror spear through him when he realized that Soleil was no longer beside him. With urgency gripping him in icy clutches he whipped his head back and forth, silently praying that with each passing moment he might catch a fleeting glimpse of her exquisite violet gown or her radiant smile, but she was nowhere to be found; he strode toward the gazebo where Aglarel and Aveil were still chatting amiably with Mattick and Vattick, frantic now, with Brennus barking inquiries from just behind him.

"Soleil," he said curtly in lieu of an actual greeting, and there followed a tense pause as Aglarel and Aveil scoured the groups of nobles for the First Princess of Thultanthar and the twin illusionist princes stood there wearing expressions of utter perplexity.

"I saw her barely five minutes ago," Brennus spoke up, and they all turned to face him with desperate eyes. "She was speaking with Lim Tal'eyve, near the fountain – " They followed his finger when he pointed, " – and they set off into the gardens together shortly after."

"Why would he take her there?" Aveil asked them in a feverish tone, her face as pale as newly fallen snow. "He knows what Phendrana saw."

"What did he see?" Brennus demanded, but his words fell on deaf ears.

"What business could Lim possibly have with Soleil?" Aglarel pondered dubiously. "One could hardly go so far as to suggest that they are friends… They scarcely interact, and Soleil is barely fonder of him than we are."

But Lamorak was too preoccupied thinking back to answer right away, sifting through his memories of the last several hours, piecing every out-of-the-ordinary occurrence together in a way he hadn't considered before. He had been surprised to find Lim just entering the gates and disgusted to learn that the drow's innate vanity had driven him to abandon Hadrhune, but such behavior hadn't seemed that uncharacteristic and he had chosen not to dwell on it for long. There was simply too much to do and too many concerns that needed their undivided attention, and he wasn't ashamed to admit that Lim Tal'eyve was near the bottom of his priority list. But that didn't change the fact that between the time the drow had vanished without explanation from Hadrhune's side and the time he had appeared at the gates and followed them to the ceremony, his whereabouts were unknown.

Were they still?

"It isn't Lim," Lamorak breathed incredulously, scarcely able to believe his own words. "It's one of the drow."

---

The panic coursing through his veins was a sensation unlike anything Mourn had ever felt before; it consumed his thoughts, it made his heart race, it made him so short of breath that he felt as though he hadn't breathed in hours. He stood far enough off to the side that he didn't draw anyone's immediate attention but close enough that he appeared to be an active participant in the night's frivolities, his eyes darting to and fro as he kept a vigilant watch and perspiration beading upon his forehead. It was only a matter of time before his carefully crafted disguise wore off, and then he would be exposed and helpless.

He had reached the point of acute desperation.

Waiting around for the real Lim Tal'eyve to waltz back into their midst as though nothing was amiss was no longer a feasible option. The odds that he had run afoul of Quartana Baenre mounted higher and higher with each passing second. He couldn't take any more chances. He had to act now or lose everything.

His ever-wandering eye caught sight of the High Prince's dark-haired mountebank, the beauty who had just wed the First Prince of Shade, chatting quietly with the shadow sorcerer called Hadrhune. What he needed now was a moment alone to interrogate someone, anyone, who might know well enough Lim's whereabouts – where did he normally spend his time? Where was he most inclined to go? If he could retrace Lim's steps he would have a better chance of tracking him down – anything was better than standing here, waiting for his disguise to fade and give his true identity away. The mountebank was surely his best option – she had been flitting through the crowd since the reception had began, chatting with everyone in attendance, so surely for her to entertain him for a few brief moments wouldn't see so out of the ordinary. That, and she was human – he liked his odds against her better than he liked them against one of the Princes of Shade.

Mourn dragged a shaky breath into his lungs and wrapped his trembling fingers around the hilt of his treasured starmetal dagger, steeling himself for the next unplanned stage of this operation, and moved toward her in what he sincerely hoped was a leisurely fashion.

" – Just worry about him, that's all," the mountebank was saying, her face despaired and her words saturated with sympathy. "He's been through so much… I can hardly stand the thought of him being unhappy."

"Who could possibly be unhappy on a day like today?" Mourn asked, his tone light and jubilant, waving one arm to indicate the fantastical setting. From all that he knew of Lim Tal'eyve, the drow had a flair for the dramatic that he exhibited in even the most inappropriate of times; he clung to that knowledge now, praying for all he was worth that it would preserve him for just a little while longer. "The setting is lovely, the food divine. What could possibly be troubling you?"

"Not me," Soleil corrected distractedly. "Phendrana. I have hardly seen him smile all day, and now I cannot even find him to ensure he is alright."

Mourn knew that Phendrana was the doppelganger, one of the shadow-dwellers who had spotted him skulking near the gate while he had contemplated how best to seek out Lim – better yet he actually knew where the doppelganger was, and was certain he could use that knowledge to his advantage. "I saw him with Prince Lamorak not long ago, actually – " How he had managed to recall that name, he couldn't begin to guess. "They seemed to be at odds about something… In any case, Lamorak came back alone."

Soleil's face crumpled with distress; Mourn was acutely aware of Hadrhune's eyes upon his face, scouring his every feature with unnerving focus, but he kept his eyes upon the mountebank and his expression a veritable outpouring of sympathy. Surely the seneschal wouldn't be so bold as to accuse him of foul play here, would he? "I should speak to him."

"I think the doppelganger isn't any concern of yours," Hadrhune put in coldly, watching Mourn defiantly as he said this as though silently daring him to argue. "You are a Tanthul now – he is beneath your notice."

"He is my friend," Soleil corrected at once, her rebuke a little sharper than Mourn had anticipated it might be, and though Hadrhune was obviously fuming he wisely kept his mouth shut. Animosity was veritably rolling off him in waves, and Mourn felt himself break out in a cold sweat again. It was clear from the shadow sorcerer's hostile behavior that he suspected Mourn of something, but how? "Do you know where he is?"

"I believe he is still in the rear-facing garden where the ceremony took place," Mourn brooded aloud, turning just so he could gaze thoughtfully in the direction he had seen the doppelganger and the prince sneak off to earlier, pleased when the mountebank followed his gaze with obvious longing.

Soleil turned her gaze back upon his face, her eyes searching and questioning – Mourn couldn't help but wonder at the open suspicion all of the High Prince's subjects had shown him in the brief time he had spent in their company, but whether it was because he was acting strangely or this was how they normally treated him he could only speculate. Gradually she seemed to reach a conclusion that relaxed her considerably, saying, "Would you take me to him?"

"Of course, Princess." He offered her an arm, careful not to allow his cape to ripple out too wide and reveal either his very telling weapon or the precious treasure he meant to deliver to the real Lim Tal'eyve.

"Soleil." Hadrhune's voice was low and soft, a warning and a plea all at once. His eyes swam with desperation, willing her to return to reason, but Soleil was a woman mostly driven by emotion and it was apparent in her expression that she had already made up her mind.

"I should at least determine what is troubling him," the mountebank said without hesitation, and to Mourn's surprise she actually looped her arm with his and flashed him one of her dazzling smiles. "Lead the way."

They maneuvered smoothly around Hadrhune – Mourn was certain he had accomplished the first stage of a seemingly impossible task – but then he felt the seneschal's hand catch him none-too-gently at the elbow and he whirled back to confront him, feeling his eyes grow wide with fear. Hadrhune stared him down, those amber eyes that looked so like Lim's boring holes through his skull, his teeth parting in an awful grimace to expose the ivory tips of those horrible ceremonial fangs he wore, and for a moment that seemed somehow to encompass an eternity Mourn was certain the shadow sorcerer would simply tear him limb from limb with his bare hands.

"I wonder," Soleil said in a steely-cold voice, effectively ending their silent standoff, "if it is not Phendrana who should be beneath my notice, but you, Hadrhune. Do you not suppose that with the grudges you hold and the confrontations you continuously seek that you sow more discord in this place than Lim ever has? Perhaps the High Prince is right not to confide in you any longer. While your thoughts are bent only toward hateful designs you cannot hope to be any use to him."

A bolt of unfathomable pain crossed Hadrhune's face at her words, and he snatched his fingers back as though burned; turning away Mourn smiled victoriously and led the First Princess through the deepening foliage, inwardly acutely amused by her accusation. The shadow sorcerer's actions might have saved her, and now through her own stubbornness and sense of self-entitlement she was surely doomed.

He no longer cared who stood in his way. He was prepared to slaughter every last one of the cursed shadow dwellers if it brought him to Lim.

Starting with the newly-crowned Princess of Thultanthar, if necessary.

---

Hadrhune watched them go, rooted to the spot by a myriad of emotions that were largely unfamiliar to him – guilt and self-loathing foremost among them. The easiest means of confrontation available to him, of course, would have been to stop the imposter then and there – there was no doubt in his mind that the man standing before them, smiling Lim's easy smiles and speaking his familiar honeyed words, wasn't Lim Tal'eyve at all – but uncertainty and fear had claimed him and he'd simply done nothing. He'd let the High Prince's only daughter, the young girl their sovereign loved and cherished more than any other woman in the world, walk blindly to her death with barely a single word of protest. And when she died, he would have no one to blame but himself.

When she died, he would fall so far from favor that a lifetime of good deeds wouldn't be enough to redeem him.

He would never have admitted it aloud, but Soleil's words burned him as surely as if he had been standing within a pillar of writhing flame. The inferno wasn't born of the injustice he might have felt had her observations been unjustified, but the crippling guilt that now kept him from pursuing them. The guilt gnawed at his insides as though someone had unleashed a thousand parasites into his stomach, for she was right. The High Prince didn't confide in him, and he was useless in his eyes. He would continue to be viewed as such until he took the necessary steps to change that. The thing that had kept him from acting, he knew, was the emotion he was experiencing now that was the most unfamiliar of all – it was fear, a paralyzing terror so acute that when he looked into the imposter Lim's eyes he envisioned his own death at the drow's hands as vividly as if he had already glimpsed it with his waking eyes.

He had never once been afraid of dying before this day, not even on the handful of occasions he had come so near to death that it had seemed an inevitability.

For some reason he heard the real Lim's voice within his mind then, a ghost of the curious words he had spoken earlier that afternoon; at the time Hadrhune had been utterly perplexed by them, perhaps the most out of character words Lim had ever spoken, but now he understood them perfectly. "Since yesterday I have wondered… whether this is the right course of action. I can't help but wish there was another way… The fact of the matter is I like you, Hadrhune. I very much enjoy your company. You are the only one who has never questioned me. The only one I truly feel I can trust." The memory almost made him laugh aloud. He had spent months working to keep the drow at arms' length for he considered him untrustworthy in all things, yet the sincerity he had heard resonating from these words made him wonder if Lim had ever spoken more truthfully in all his life.

Hadrhune thought of Aveil then, and couldn't help but despair. If he failed in this, the twisted and chaotic future that Lim had envisioned for her would surely come to pass. Did he still love her enough to intervene, to do something that might alter the course of that awful version of events? Would there be any preserving the only woman he had ever loved when she was forced to marry a man she didn't love in return? Aveil Arthien was the epitome of passion, of recklessness and impulse and intensity and desire, and that woman would die too, in a way, if he failed to act. And even if he didn't love her anymore, why should that stop him? Didn't he have enough pride in the role he played for his sovereign and enough decency of character to do what was required of him anyway?

Perhaps Lim had been counting on that all along. Perhaps he had banked all his feeble hopes upon the disgraced Right Hand of the Most High, praying in the end that he found the courage to stand as their final line of defense, to play the rook.

Lim had believed that he was brave enough, but was he?

---

Phendrana stared down at the single night-blooming jasmine bud in the palm of his hand, his face beset with melancholy and his eyes wide and unblinking as he studied its delicate petals. He thought of poor, troubled, disgraced Brennus, whose only crime was his desire to preserve someone he loved no matter the cost. He thought of Lamorak and the complicated, undefined nature of the relationship they had, as well as how much was now riding on the Third Prince's vow to keep certain sensitive matters from reaching their sovereign's ears. He thought of the High Prince and how he would respond to the events now unfolding in the years to come. But mostly he thought of the blissful few weeks he had spent being courted by the Twelfth Prince of Shade, the delightful simplicity of their affair, and how he would give absolutely anything to relive that time again and again.

He was so engrossed in his own musings that he didn't realize he was no longer alone until a quavering voice, breathless with fear, managed to stammer out his name; the moment he looked up he felt a thrill of terror spear through him with such agony that it nearly buckled his knees, followed by a wash of guilt so intense he nearly vomited then and there.

It was Soleil who had called his name, a silent sob upon her trembling lips and tears streaming soundlessly from her too-bright eyes; standing behind her, irises brightening from amber to fuchsia and the last wisps of artificially-conjured shadows fading into colorless vapor, was the drow assassin whose attempt on the High Prince's life Phendrana himself had foiled. With one hand the drow had Soleil's arms pinned behind her back at a painful and awkward angle, and in the other he held the vicious starmetal blade against the tender flesh of the mountebank's throat. They were standing beneath the white lattice archway where only hours before Soleil had experienced what Phendrana was certain was the single happiest moment of her short lifetime; it was surreal and utterly inconceivable that she should now experience one of the most awful in the same place. Phendrana was aware that he had taken his feet but he could not bring himself to act otherwise, frozen at the thought of what might happen if he took even a step closer. And all the while he was inwardly berating himself for his own lack of vigilance – all this time he had been armed with a clear vision of what would transpire if he failed to act, and even with that wealth of knowledge he had been unable to thwart this inevitable event.

No. He hadn't even attempted to thwart it. He had allowed himself to become mired by his own personal affairs and utterly ignored the potential dangers presented to him. Had he paid attention to what truly mattered, he might have been able to alter the course that events had taken.

Was there still time to change it?

"I am certain that you aren't here to cause any harm to our noble princess," Phendrana began in a disarming, only slightly tremulous voice. "Surely if you tell me your true purpose here I could find a way to accommodate it. Let it be known to me, I beg you. I only ask that you don't hurt her."

"You'll find a way to accommodate me or I'll kill her where she stands," growled Mourntrin Auvryndar in a feral undertone, and though Soleil's face grew even paler at his words Phendrana was inclined not to believe him. The way his eyes darted about, animalistic and desperate, made the doppelganger think that the drow had pressing business to attend to elsewhere, and that he wouldn't have bothered with Soleil at all if some other option had presented itself.

Phendrana straightened, doing his best to appear unperturbed, and said, "I want your word that she won't be harmed. Once I have that I will help you, so long as it is within my power to do so."

"Very well," agreed Mourn feverishly, "but you know what will happen if you refuse to comply."

"Of course." The mindmaster clenched his left hand briefly into a fist before relaxing his fingers, just long enough so that he could feel the band of the ring Brennus had crafted pressing into his palm. He drew a mote of courage knowing that it rested upon his finger, enough to keep him from losing his composure in the face of Soleil's obvious terror. "Tell me how I can help you."

"Tell me where Lim Tal'eyve is."

Phendrana balked, momentarily at a loss for words. Of all the things he had been expecting the drow to demand, this hadn't been one of them. His confusion showed in his poorly-worded reply. "Do you not know? You were impersonating him."

Mourn growled and tightened his grip upon Soleil's arms; the mountebank gasped out a cry and a fresh wave of tears dampened her cheeks. Phendrana knew that, had he still be mortal, his heart would be bursting from his chest with panic. "I impersonated him so that I could move freely throughout your damnable city," he hissed impatiently. "If I knew where he was, I wouldn't have to resort to such elementary tactics. Tell me what I wish to know, doppelganger!"

Phendrana stood there, slack jawed and at a complete loss for what to say. In truth he hadn't the faintest clue where Lim might be, but knowing that this assassin had been wearing his guise for several hours gave him an idea. "The priestess must have waylaid him," he marveled, as much to himself as to Soleil's captor. "Surely by now she is preparing to sacrifice him to the Spider Queen."

"How can you possibly know about Quartana?!" Mourn shrieked, and Phendrana's eyes were fixed upon the knife in his hand trembling just millimeters from Soleil's throat. "How do you know about her plans to deliver Lim to Lolth?!"

"Please." Phendrana heard himself begging but didn't recognize his own voice – it was hollow and completely devoid of any emotion, a ghost of what it once had been. He was standing upon the precipice of irrevocable despair, envisioning the world without the First Princess of Thultanthar. "I can explain. I have been having dreams – prophetic visions of your arrival and the coming of your accomplices while I slept. That is how I knew to thwart your attempt on the High Prince's life those weeks ago. That is how I know of the priestess you call Quartana."

"And Xuntath? Zek? Nhilue?" It was only the name Zek that brought Phendrana to the realization that these were the names of the other drow who had infiltrated Thultanthar in their quest to eliminate those now closest to Lim, and he bowed his head by way of response. "You killed them all."

"Would you have done any differently, were our roles reversed?" Phendrana knew it was foolish to argue, but there was still a small part of him that hoped he could make this intruder see reason. If he could get him to drop his guard even an infinitesimal amount, get him to lower his weapon just a fraction, he could crush his mind with barely a thought and ensure Soleil's safety. "If the Princes of Shade infiltrated your homeland with murderous intent, would you abide their presence?"

"I don't give a damn about your detestable shadow masters!" Mourn howled, and as Phendrana watched despairingly the mad desperation crept into the drow's eyes and consumed him. There would be no reasoning with him now. "If what you say is true, and you've had dreams about Quartana sacrificing Lim to the Spider Queen, then you've seen where she's taken him. Now TELL ME WHERE!"

Phendrana held his hands up palms forward in a futile placating gesture, knowing that with each moment he delayed as he conjured up a plan brought them one moment nearer to Soleil's death. He could feel the mountebank's tear-filled eyes scouring his face, wordlessly pleading for him to look her way, but he steadfastly avoided her gaze – if he made eye contact with her now he would lose the last shred of his composure, and that was something neither of them could afford. "Let her go and I will tell you everything."

Mourn snarled his disapproval and pricked Soleil's neck with exacting pressure; Phendrana's eyes traced the single drop of blood as it traversed her skin to the hollow of her throat and quivered there in time with her quickened, shallow breathing, nauseous with fear. "Now. And don't think you can attack my mind to save her. You never know… my hand might just slip while I'm dying, and how would you explain that to your precious High Prince?"

"The Church of Shar." The words tumbled out of Phendrana's mouth so quickly that he was amazed he had correctly articulated them at all. "It's in the Upper District… Surely you can see it behind me? It has a bell, and a steeple."

"I know what a church looks like," snapped the drow impatiently, though his eyes did flit momentarily over Phendrana's shoulder, perhaps to calculate the distance from the palace to the church. There was something in his expression that made Phendrana think that the confrontation was coming to a close, and the thought seized him with a panic the likes of which he had never known; it drove him to say something, anything just to keep the drow's attention, for he was no closer to formulating a plan to keep Soleil from further harm than he had been before.

"Why would you kill him? Do his trespasses against the Spider Queen offend you so much that you would risk your own life infiltrating a foreign land just for a chance to claim his?"

"Kill him?" Miraculously the desperation flew from the drow's features; something about Phendrana's words seemed to have brought him back to his senses. He tilted his head minutely to one side, his eyes narrowed into suspicious slits of striking fuchsia, and without warning burst into a peal of laughter that actually made the doppelganger flinch. "Are you mad?! I don't want to kill him, you fool, I'm here to help him. I've been looking for him ever since Drako Falconis and Aveil Arthien murdered him within Castle Perilous, and if Quartana is still alive when I track him down I'll kill that bitch too."

Phendrana's head spun – this wasn't what he had expected to hear at all. "But why – ?"

"I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR YOUR QUESTIONS!" shrieked the drow in a sudden fit of rage, and before Phendrana could speak another word Mourn tightened his fingers upon the hilt of the dagger and struck the fatal blow. Phendrana was prepared for the stream of sickening crimson, for the all-consuming loss, for the life to leave the mountebank's vibrant eyes –

Nothing happened.

"What?" Mourn seized a handful of Soleil's hair and tugged her head back none-too-gently, exposing her completely unblemished throat, and the desperation crept back into his eyes when he noticed that his intended victim was unharmed. With a snarl of denial he plunged the knife into her chest – Phendrana cried out in horror – but the result was the same; the blade vanished the instant before it could break the skin, leaving Soleil without a single scratch. Soleil's eyes fluttered as she wavered on the edge of consciousness, unscathed but bewildered –

Mourn shoved her away, panic-stricken, and ran, leaving Phendrana standing there feeling just as numb and breathless as before.

"Phendrana!" came a frantic cry, and his body turned of its own accord to identify the speaker; Lamorak was rounding the corner of the palace walls at a sprint with Brennus, Aglarel, and Aveil following close at his heels, their faces a collection of grimly expectant expressions. Aglarel and Aveil fell upon Soleil immediately, who aside from the tiny rivulet of half-dried blood staining her throat appeared to be unharmed, and seizing the doppelganger's arms Lamorak gave him a jarring shake. "Are you alright?! What happened?! Where is the drow?!"

"Who did it?" Phendrana questioned monotonously, his head now spinning so violently that he feared he would either be sick all over the Determinist Prime's robes or swoon for the ground. "Who saved her?"

"Get her out of here!" Aglarel roared, his eyes wild and his anger rolling off him in nearly-visible waves, and for once Aveil didn't have a snide remark with which to respond; with a swift nod she heaved the mountebank to her feet and dissolved into a shower of shadow particles, bound for some unknown destination where Phendrana hoped no further harm would befall them. Then the Fourth Prince was on his feet, his eyes darkening to a manic shade of crimson that sent a thrill of dreadful anticipation through Phendrana's belly, and he approached them with a demented grimace upon his face as he said, "Lamorak, we cannot delay. This infraction is inexcusable. We are responsible for bringing the High Prince's wrath down upon the princess's would-be killer, and woe betide us both if we fail in this."

Lamorak bowed his head briefly and inhaled slowly through his nose – Phendrana got the impression the Third Prince was working to compose himself, to suppress the rage he was surely experiencing on the princess's behalf – before glancing back over his shoulder to regard his brother. "Yes," he agreed monotonously, and sparing Phendrana one last glance he released him and followed after Aglarel; the coldness with which Lamorak regarded him burned Phendrana like frozen iron, despite the fact that his hands upon his upper arms were like fire.

"This fight is also mine!" Brennus reminded them, enraged at the oversight, but Aglarel was unrepentant.

"The High Prince has made it clear that your direct involvement in these matters is prohibited," the Fourth Prince told him remorselessly. "Whether you are guilty or innocent is not my decision to make, brother. I will stand by the High Prince's decree – stay out of this." And then the two of them were gone, vanishing in a scattering of shadow particles just like Soleil and Aveil. Brennus opened his mouth vehemently, a tirade upon his lips, but Phendrana swiftly overrode him.

"Will you argue, or will you act?" snapped the doppelganger, and though Brennus turned his dark gaze upon him Phendrana did not submit. "They are looking for the drow, that much is true, but they can't know where he has gone."

"And you know?" Brennus wondered aloud, hardly pleased by the prospect, and Phendrana dropped his gaze to the ground, ashamed but resigned.

"Of course I know," Phendrana admitted softly. "I have seen it already. His real target is Lim Tal'eyve, and I dreamt that the priestess who takes his life took him to the Church of Shar – she wishes to sacrifice him to the Spider Queen, as well as desecrate the Night Mother's temple to ensure that we appear unworthy in her eyes. I cannot say how he means to accomplish it, but the drow let slip that he is not here to cause us any harm – he means to help Lim."

Brennus moaned and ran a hand down his face. "You mean to tell me that you had the opportunity to eliminate him and you let him escape? Phendrana… there is no proof that his words hold any truth to them. A man who is cornered will say anything if he thinks his life might be spared."

"There is truth to them," Phendrana insisted stubbornly. "Lim has been saying all along that the means to eradicate Lolth is being brought to him by some unknown party – Hadrhune told me as much last night, during the bridal masquerade." He darted out one hand impulsively and grasped Brennus's hand, squeezing his fingers tightly, desperate now. "Brennus… If there is even the slightest possibility that this drow carries that which Lim has been waiting for, we have a duty to ensure that he delivers it to Lim. What if he truly possesses the means to destroy the Spider Queen – the Night Mother's eternal nemesis! – once and for all?"

The Twelfth Prince's face appeared at first glance impassive, but Phendrana knew that face well and detected the undercurrent of fury beneath his expressionless façade. "This drow attempted to murder Soleil, whom you are now bound to protect just as surely as you are bound to protect my brothers and me. If you are wrong… aiding a fugitive of this nature would be a further disgrace to my name. What you speak of is treason."

"And if I am right, and you are solely responsible for recovering the means to annihilate a goddess, it will surely redeem you," Phendrana countered quietly. "It may be the only thing now that can."

Brennus stared back at him silently for a moment, his bronze eyes hard with something that could only be loathing, but Phendrana continued to gaze back at him placidly. He already knew the outcome, just as surely as he knew that Brennus would agree to whatever he proposed in the end. The lure of returning to the High Prince's favor was just too strong – any of his brothers would have leapt at the chance, for it was the thing they all coveted most of all. At last the loremaster sighed, closing his eyes as though pained at the task that awaited him, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger to quell his mounting irritation, and said, "Then I must take yet another risk, it seems."

"Then you had best be quick," Phendrana urged him feverishly. "Every moment you delay is a moment Lamorak and Aglarel might stumble upon the drow, and I needn't tell you how that confrontation will end if it comes to pass."

"You are not coming?" A flicker of uncertainty crossed Brennus's face, but Phendrana stood firm.

"That would be most unwise. We are forbidden to be in one another's company, and if these events play out the way I suspect they will I would prefer the credit to be yours and yours alone." The doppelganger cracked an unwilling smile then, finishing, "You shouldn't share your laurels with others, you know. No one else needs the gift of the High Prince's bounty more than you."

"I suppose that's true," the Twelfth Prince agreed at last, even as his features blurred and were lost in the dissolving of his body into shadow.

Alone at last, Phendrana allowed his shoulders to slump a fraction as the first hint of debilitating despair began to creep like numbing poison through his extremities, and closing his eyes he allowed his mental influence to probe the surrounding area for nearby presences he hadn't been aware of before in his distracted state. What had happened before when the drow had tried to strike Soleil down was not a new occurrence to him – he had actually witnessed it once before a few years previous, and knowing the truth of how the mountebank was spared made him feel physically ill.

On the first day he had chosen to reveal his true form to those who had once been dearest to him, Phendrana had nearly lost his own life in the protection of someone he loved. He had charged into battle against Daermond, a rakshasa of considerable mental prowess, for he had been blind with fear at the thought of what might happen to Captain Alvaro Rosalles, the seafaring mercenary who had been the doppelganger's first real love, if he continued to hide behind the guises of the six deceased heroes he had assimilated into his own mind. Going into that battle he had solemnly sworn to himself that he would do anything to preserve Rosalles' life, even if it meant sacrificing his own – and that worst-case scenario had nearly come to pass when he impulsively invoked the power of a rare relic he had recovered from the gloaming Zerena as she lay dying in his arms. The relic was called a Torc of Heroic Sacrifice, and when its wearer invoked its magic he could bear the physical wounds inflicted upon another himself. He remembered the blow Daermond had dealt. He remembered the awful cursed blade as the rakshasa plunged it through Rosalles' torso. He remembered the searing, unimaginable pain as he held the Torc in his hand and took the wound upon his own flesh, as surely as if he had been the rakshasa's intended target. Had it not been for the unexplainable powers of the six heroes who had lived within his mind back then, Phendrana would surely have perished.

He hadn't used the Torc of Hreoic Sacrifice since that day, but he had never gotten rid of it. He recalled precisely where it had been the last time he had seen it, upon the mantle of the fireplace within his private chambers only a few days ago.

He had thought it most curious when the item had vanished without a trace just yesterday, but now he was certain he knew where to find it.

"Is someone else there?" he asked quietly, amazed at how the words died upon the suddenly-freezing air, and he half hoped no one would answer.

There issued a very wet, very weak cough from somewhere not far away, and Phendrana instinctively followed the sound with leaden feet as the dread coursed, viscous and congealed, through his veins.

Beneath a magnificent river birch tree he found the once-proud shadow sorcerer Hadrhune, his amber eyes staring lifelessly up at the gently-swaying branches; around his neck he wore a thick ribbon of black velvet that bore an oval-shaped jade stone nestled within a bed of platinum filigree - the cursed Torc that he had stolen from Phendrana, distinguishable even stained with the seneschal's black shadowblood.

Phendrana sank to his knees at the shadow sorcerer's side, his hands hovering helplessly over the seneschal's swiftly-fading body. Already the protective veil of shadows that usually clung to his form had completely evaporated and the wounds he had accepted as his own were clearly visible; the black spatters of shadowblood at his throat and chest were already pooling beneath him, a stark contrast to the lovely bed of white and violet flower petals upon which he lay gasping feebly for air. Phendrana remembered what High Prince Telamont had told him about starmetal and knew that Hadrhune couldn't be long for this world – even if their sovereign appeared at that very moment, it was highly unlikely he could repair the brutal wounds the drow had unknowingly inflicted upon Hadrhune. Instead he continued to kneel there, despaired at the prospect of such a grievous loss as the awful memories of the deaths of his six lost ones flashed before his waking eyes, and abruptly he found he knew precisely what he needed to do.

Leaning slightly forward he slipped the precious ensorcelled ring off his finger, took one of the seneschal's bloodstained hands in both of his own, and drew a ragged, resigned breath.

"Don't," croaked out Hadrhune, and the single watery syllable nearly broke Phendrana's resolve. There was no misunderstanding the tone of the seneschal's voice, a man resigned to a fate he had chosen for himself. He desired death now more so than anything else, perhaps even believed that it was all he deserved, and it saddened Phendrana to think that in a way he would be denying Hadrhune his life's last wish.

"We need you." Who else had the courage to do what Hadrhune had done? Wasn't that worth preserving in any way possible?

"Don't," Hadrhune reiterated, his voice only just audible, and barely a moment later the last outlines of his body faded into nothingness and his shadow orb shriveled and disintegrated in the doppelganger's hand.

"I have to," murmured Phendrana sadly to the grains of black dust in his palm, even as they slipped through his fingers and vanished upon a breeze.

---

Mourn kept to alleys and the shadows cast by the taller structures in the Upper District as he ran, his eyes upon the steeple of the Church when he felt certain his footing was sure enough. He knew that his path was taking him out of his way, but despite the dire circumstances he simply couldn't bring himself to compromise stealth for speed. Now that he had revealed himself to the doppelganger, stealth was his only ally; he had no doubt that the Princes of Shade were aware of his presence now, and it was only a matter of time before they gave chase. If they caught up to him before he had the chance to reach Lim Tal'eyve…

He shook his head vigorously, dispelling the gruesome suppositions from his mind before they could truly manifest. The consequences of his actions were something he had accepted years ago, and he no longer had any right to fear them – on the contrary he would relish them if only he could complete this one great task he had been given. Little else would matter if the end of the day found him successful in his endeavors.

The alley down which he had been racing abruptly ended in an open cobblestoned street and he had no choice but to pause, skulking within the last of the shadows that were now his only protection from this hostile environment. The church the doppelganger had claimed to be Lim's current location was now so near that Mourn had to suppress the urge to cry out in frustration, for what would it solve but to alert those pursuing him of his position? All that separated him from his destination was a single avenue about thirty feet across, two more alleyways, and the elaborate stone courtyard that led up to the church's entrance. Given that the wedding ceremony had long since ended and the commoners were strictly forbidden from attending the reception on the palace lawn the streets were now lined with passerby, merchants and artisans and soldiers and scholars returning to their daily duties. Mourn gritted his teeth, poised to sprint the length of the street at the first available opportunity, but seconds continued to slip by and no such chance presented itself.

Could he outrun anyone who might catch a glimpse of him? How quickly would these eyewitnesses be able to get word of his passing to someone of authority?

Suddenly he felt a disturbance in the very air around him, and casting a surreptitious glance over his shoulder he watched with horror as one of the Princes of Shade stepped out of a rift between dimensions, materializing at the other end of the alley in a flurry of black shadow particles; Mourn was certain it was the one he had fought in the palace gardens on the night he had failed to assassinate the High Prince, but the eyes glaring out at him from within the prince's shadow-swathed face were a smoldering shade of livid crimson that struck Mourn momentarily numb with fear. Instinctively he took a step backward, keen now to put as much distance between himself and the prince with the awful ruby eyes as quickly as possible –

His back connected with something and he whirled back, and his heart stuttered uncomfortably within his chest as he came face-to-face with Lamorak, the prince who had been entertaining the doppelganger within the palace courtyard. The prince bore down upon him, his ceremonial fangs glinting wickedly in the sparse light of the alley and his pale silver eyes scorching Mourn's flesh like a subzero blast of wind –

A hand seized him at the shoulder with crushing force, wringing an unwilling cry from Mourn's lips, and even as Lamorak was reaching for him with serrated shadow claws he found himself being dragged backward into a curtain of impenetrable darkness. For a handful of excruciating seconds he lost all sense of direction and saw only darkness, until without warning he found himself toppling backward into the lightless void that was the Realm of Shadow. Glancing up he recognized yet another Prince of Shade, the one with the eyes of molten bronze, and Mourn scooted backward in an attempt to keep the distance between them.

"Hurry!" hissed the bronze-eyed shade, thrusting one hand out in Mourn's direction to help him off the ground, the desperation in his voice warring with the disgust in his face. "Any moment they will be upon us!"

Mourn groped for the starmetal dagger that rested always within the folds of his cloak, regaining his feet as he brandished the weapon before him and standing his ground as he prepared to defend himself despite the terror now gripping him in its icy, constricting clutches. "Keep away from me, shadow-dweller! This is your only warning! Don't stand in my way!"

"Stay your weapon, fool!" bellowed the prince, his voice oddly distorted by the thick curtains of gently-undulating shadow that perpetually blanketed that bleak dimension. "If you ever want to reach Lim Tal'eyve you will follow me, and if you threaten me a second time I will make your death truly monstrous! Now make your choice! There is no time!"

Through the presence of some preternaturally keen ulterior sense Mourn hadn't known he possessed he sensed that the prince's words held some truth to them; somehow he could feel the menacing, murderous presences of other shadow creatures dwelling in the darkness not far from where they lingered. Whether the malevolent glares he felt upon him were the eyes of the Princes of Shade or other foul, more primitive shadow beasts lurking nearby he couldn't tell, but instinctively he knew that to hesitate was to perish. It made his skin crawl to take the prince's hand and allow himself to be dragged to his feet but Mourn swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat, and when the prince turned his back and dashed into the seemingly endless expanse of shadows Mourn steeled his own resolve and followed closely behind, determined not to become lost in that desolate place as it was all that now stood between him and fulfilling his ultimate goal.

As they ran a cacophony of furious shouts echoed behind him, a sure sign that they were being pursued, and it prompted Mourn to ask an important question. "Why would you help me? I can hardly be called a friend to Thultanthar."

"Make no mistake," came the harsh reply from ahead of him, "you are more my enemy than anyone else now in Shade Enclave. Still, the other half of my soul thinks that in aiding you in rescuing Lim Tal'eyve I might yet redeem myself in the eyes of my sovereign, and damned if I haven't run out of options at this juncture."

"The doppelganger told you all this?" Mourn repeated, his chest aching with the effort of running and conversing simultaneously.

"Phendrana has glimpsed Lim's death at the hands of a drow priestess – given the delicate nature of my own situation I cannot say that I am privy to more than those sparse details." There was a note of bitterness in the shade prince's tone, but Mourn couldn't bring himself to feel pity on his behalf. "From what I understand, Lim has mentioned on numerous occasions that he has been waiting for someone outside the city to bring him something – something of great power that he intends to use to usurp the Spider Queen from her abyssal throne. This outlandish promise of his is the only thing preventing the High Prince from killing Lim outright – " An involuntary shudder ripped down Mourn's spine at the thought. " – Or so I have been led to believe. Yet, Phendrana has reason to believe that there is some truth to all that Lim has said, and if there is even the faintest possibility that Lim's outrageous plan might benefit us I can hardly refuse the chance to ally with him. At present I am hardly the High Prince's most trusted advisor, but if I were to have a hand in Lolth's downfall…"

Mourn sneered at the shade prince's back in disgust. "Then you have no interest in whether Lim lives or dies – you're only looking out for yourself."

The prince halted in his tracks and turned back, a maniacal glint in his bronze eyes, and with a smirk he replied, "Perhaps in that regard the drow and the Netherese are one in the same." Then his hand landed upon Mourn's shoulder and he shoved with enough force to send the drow reeling backward, right through yet another tear in the dimensional fabric and back onto the Material Plane.

Only through a combination of his own characteristic grace and impeccable reflexes was Mourn able to land lightly enough on his feet to avoid drawing any unwanted attention his way; he turned his landing into a soundless crouch and listened hard, his eyes darting around for clues as to where the shade prince had taken him. At first glance he was certain he had landed right in the middle of the Church of Shar; he had materialized behind a black marble pew on the right-hand side of the congregation, the last row of hundreds of such structures leading up to one of the grandest altars the drow assassin had ever set eyes upon. The rest of the great hall was devoid of any life – the bell in the steeple wasn't ringing, so Mourn supposed there wouldn't be a service in session anytime soon – save for the single figure standing in a place of honor at the head of the hall. Mourn recognized Quartana Baenre instantly by the way she wore her snow-white hair in an elaborate chignon and the cold gleam of her dull crimson eyes; with one hand she was rippling her fingers through the physical portion of an incantation – Mourn could hear the cadence of the words as she whispered them beneath her breath, but specific syllables escapes him – and in the other she clutched a ceremonial dagger whose hilt was fashioned in the shape of a black widow spider. Mourn's eyes fell upon the altar beside which the priestess stood, its surface littered with all manner of sacrificial effects, and for a moment his heart stopped – there, bound upon the hard obsidian surface of the altar, was Lim Tal'eyve.

Mourn moved swiftly and silently up the aisle, keeping his body as low to the floor as he could manage while slipping his hand within the inner folds of his cloak to grasp at his treasured starmetal blade. The anticipation was a tangible thing that he swore he could nearly taste upon the air, intoxicating in its desirability – one more hurdle, one more bloody death, and at long last he could complete the task that had been assigned to him all those years ago. When he struck down the daughter of the iron-fisted House Baenre, every priestess in every drow city littered throughout the vast Underdark would feel the intensity of the blow.

Three pews from the front he watched in horror as Quartana hefted the blade into the air, the candlelight dancing coldly along the cruel contours of the knife edge, and Mourn knew he was out of time to prepare.

The muscles in Quartana's raised arm tightened as she stabbed the dagger down, and with twenty feet yet between them Mourn could think of only one way to thwart the stroke – he whipped his arm forward and threw the starmetal dagger end-over-end, watching with bated breath as it traversed the distance between them with agonizing slowness. The throw was less than perfect – Mourn had been aiming for the priestess's heart and cursed his inaccuracy relentlessly beneath his breath – but despite the fact that it didn't find its mark he still managed to strike the knuckles of her dominant hand with the hilt of the blade with enough force to jar the dagger from her fingers. The elaborate blade clattered to the floor and skittered away beneath the pews on the left side of the congregation, and Mourn's own dagger fell to the ground at Quartana's feet.

"Insolent male!" she shrieked, snatching the scourge of vipers from her belt and lashing out at him with a single powerful stroke of her arm; Mourn strafed to the left, caught his foot upon the base of a pew, and nearly fell, but even so he still managed to avoid the initial blow and the sentient vipers tore through the trailing hem of his cloak with their vicious, poison-tipped fangs. "I knew you couldn't be trusted! You will suffer a fate worse than death for this interference!"

She snapped her arm again, catching Mourn slightly off his guard with her backstroke, and the best he could do to avoid it was to stumble forward; five of the writhing viper lengths sailed harmlessly by on his right side, but the other two twisted their diamond-shaped heads at the last instant and their needle-sharp fangs found purchase in the deltoid and bicep of his right arm. Mourn grimaced and ripped his arm free of their fangs immediately, but already he could feel their deadly poison speeding through his veins – the vipers secreted a toxin that could speed the heartbeat of any living creature, and if enough of that substance made its way into his heart he knew the organ would burst. If he was soon to die, he decided grimly, he needed to do away with the priestess quickly. He needed to deliver what he had been carrying all this time before his strength failed him.

Mourn leapt backward in order to avoid a third stroke from Quartana's scourge, amazed that his reflexes remained sharp enough for him to dodge at all; Quartana bore down on him as he backpedaled, but he wasn't planning an escape route – he was steadily backing toward the altar, and more importantly in the direction he knew his starmetal blade had fallen. He caught a glimpse of its distinctive sheen in the light from the sputtering candles and lunged for it, only to find that his legs were moving too sluggishly now for him to complete the maneuver and he fell just short of his destination. Quartana lashed out with the scourge and the vipers twined their sleek lengths around his throat, and with his fingertips mere inches from finding purchase upon the hilt of his weapon Mourn could only glare hatefully up at the priestess as she hauled him, helpless, up to her eye level.

"Don't tell me you truly thought your little insurrection would succeed?" she sneered, reaching out and dragging her long ruby fingernails down his cheek with an exaggerated slowness that made the drow assassin want to gag. "I know better than to trust the intentions or usefulness of you males – the Time of Troubles taught the daughters of Lolth that much, after all. But how to eliminate you?" The vipers hovered just millimeters from Mourn's face, their eager tongues darting out to taste the pungent fear in the air and their onyx eyes glittering entrancingly in the light from the dozen candles surrounding the altar, and Quartana chuckled appreciatively in the face of their enthusiasm. "But of course I should let my darlings do the honor… I will leave your eyes intact, male, so that you have the supreme privilege of watching the vipers tear the flesh from your skull. You should feel grateful that I haven't more time to adequately punish you… Rest assured, you would not care for the result."

The vipers reared their heads, their mistress's elation apparent in their violently-whipping lengths, but the killing bites of the horrid snakes never came – in the instant before they could strike the bronze-eyed prince burst through a rift in the dimensions just a few feet behind Quartana with the trigger phrase of a spell upon his lips, but the priestess reacted with commendable speed and was hardly caught off guard. She dropped the handle of her scourge in favor of dealing with this new threat – Mourn collapsed to the ground, his fingers tangled in the sinuous bodies of the writhing vipers as he gasped for air – and conjured a single gleaming, golden lash in her non-dominant hand; with a crack like a stroke of thunder the whip caught Brennus by the ankle and sent him reeling, the last syllable of his incantation lost when he thudded to the floor and the breath was blasted forcibly from his lungs. Quartana tugged the length free and struck a second blow, her eyes shining with sadistic pleasure as the whip of conjured sunlight ripped a wicked laceration in the loremaster's torso from left shoulder to right hip, and he cried out in agony and convulsed as the sunlight seeped into the wound –

It was all the distraction that Mourntrin Auvryndar needed.

Gasping feebly as he tore the last of the wriggling vipers from his neck the drow assassin fumbled for the starmetal dagger that lay forgotten upon the topmost step leading up to the altar. By the time Quartana turned back to deal with him Mourn had already darted in far too close for her to either evade or block, and the crushing realization that she could do nothing to stop him shone through in her horrified expression; it brought a wild grin of true elation to Mourn's face and he paused for a half-second longer, savoring her fear and anticipating the feel of her blood upon his hands.

The killing stroke wasn't as satisfying as he had envisioned – it was more so, made utterly perfect in the way her desperate gaze grew dark and her breath became ragged and laborious. With her dying breath she found the strength to curse him to the blackest corner of the Abyss, and in response he withdrew his dagger from her abdomen and used it to cut out her tongue purely for the sake of his own enjoyment. Then Quartana Baenre slouched to the floor without another sound, and all was quiet then save the pealing of the bell within the church's tower.

"The bell," Mourn gasped out, his forehead now beaded with sweat that had little to do with his exertions from battle, and the notion that soon the church would be flooded with the Shadovar made his already-racing heart pound that much faster.

"We haven't much time," drawled Lim from where he lay bound to the altar. "Neither you nor Prince Brennus can be long for this world. You had best free me so that I can help you."

Mourn did as he was told, easily cutting through the drow-shade's bonds with a few quick strokes of his starmetal dagger; Lim swung his legs over the side of the altar and took his feet at once, assessing first Mourn's condition before crossing the congregation in three quick strides and sinking down to one knee at Brennus's side. The Twelfth Prince was a dreadful sight, the ghastly tear across his midsection seeping viscous black shadowblood and the residual drops of molten sunlight burning through his flesh like acid; Mourn tripped and collapsed to his knees weakly but did not complain, for the prince's predicament was far worse than his own and he owed the man a reprieve. Had it not been for Brennus's intervention, Mourn would surely have failed.

Lim plunged one hand down the neck of his breastplate and brought forth a vial of gray-black liquid so inconsistent of substance that it appeared nearly gaseous; he unstoppered the bottle and overturned it so that half its contents spattered upon Brennus's exposed chest, dousing the sunlight like water extinguishing a fire. Then Lim held the bottle up to the prince's lips and Brennus parted them willingly, so Lim tipped the rest of the curious dark contents down his throat. The effect was instantaneous – with the sunlight quenched the prince's wound simply knit itself neatly, leaving nothing but smooth ebony flesh beneath the tear in his loremaster's robes, and in seconds he was sitting up of his own accord.

"Take him and go," Brennus commanded, his tone leaving little room for debate, and in response to the quizzical eyebrow Lim leveled his way the loremaster added, "Lamorak and Aglarel can't be far behind – they will reach this place soon, and it is best if he – " Brennus nodded curtly once in Mourn's direction. " – Is not present when they arrive. Whatever your explanation for his presence, Lim, they will surely kill him if they find him."

Mourn's head was lolling and his expression was growing more and more vacant by the second; Lim hoisted him upright but hesitated to depart, his expression completely unreadable. "I owe you much," he admitted reluctantly, his tone of voice one of begrudging gratitude. "Come and see me when you are able and the way is clear. You cannot know how pivotal your involvement was today, but let me say this: if there is a way I might return you to the High Prince's good graces, I will see that I do everything within my power to make it so."

"Go now," Brennus insisted, clambering to his feet tiredly, and with a last nod Lim shadow-walked out of the congregation with the incoherent Mourn tucked under his arm. Barely two heartbeats elapsed before Lamorak and Aglarel materialized at the other end of the center aisle just as Brennus had predicted, and for his part the loremaster was inwardly grateful that he had already formulated a hasty alibi on the way.

Aglarel's eyes flitted over the Lolth-inspired altar in the center of their beloved Church of Shar, his eyes their characteristic cool silver now but no less unforgiving than before; he took in Brennus's tattered appearance with mild interest before his eyes fell upon the mutilated corpse of the drow priestess at the youngest prince's feet, and that interest transformed immediately into disgust. "You killed the priestess?" he asked flatly, and it was clear in his tone that he was not in the mood for riddles.

"I did," Brennus agreed simply. One had only to take note of the great tear in his robes to see that that much, at least, was true.

"And how could you have known to find her here?" Aglarel inquired suspiciously, his coldly assessing eyes scouring Brennus's face for even the barest undercurrent of fear or dishonesty.

Brennus's eyes landed on Lamorak, who regarded him calmly with only a hint of disdain. "Lamorak shared with me the last of Phendrana's visions," he lied smoothly, the naked plea in his eyes impossible for the Third Prince to mistake. "I came here straightaway to ensure Lim's safety."

Aglarel sized Lamorak up appraisingly; the Determinist Prime met his gaze unfalteringly, seeming unfazed by the Fourth Prince's intense scrutiny. Whatever Aglarel was searching for in Lamorak's face must not have concerned him for he chose not to question either of them further on that particular subject – for that much, at least, Brennus was grateful, for he wasn't foolish enough to believe that he could continue to count on Lamorak's cooperation in this instance. "And where is Lim now?"

"He departed just before you arrived to tend to his own wounds." Brennus couldn't help but privately admit to himself that it was more than a little disturbing how easily these lies came to him.

"And the other drow? The one who attempted to murder the princess?"

The Twelfth Prince swallowed hard and silently prayed to Shar that his next lie was one he might take to his grave. "If you did not come across him on your way here, he must have escaped. I came straight here after leaving the palace gardens, and from what I can tell he has not been here."

"In that case we should make haste, brother," Lamorak broke in distractedly, though his eyes had not once left Brennus's face. "He may have evaded us thus far, but he hasn't a hope of escaping the enclave now that the priestess is dead. Surely she was the one who granted them access to our city in the first place, and without her he is likely stranded. We might find him yet."

"I shudder to think how the High Prince will respond to our ineptitude if we return with nothing to show for our efforts," said the Fourth Prince emotionlessly, and with barely a second glance Brennus's way he melted into his own shadow and vanished, bound for some location unknown.

Lamorak stayed behind just long enough to leave his youngest brother with a warning. "Be careful, brother. To lie in the realm of an omniscient king is to court disaster, and I will only be content to accommodate your traitorous designs for so long."

Brennus thought of Lim's vow then, and it served to keep him calm in the face of Lamorak's ill omens. "Just keep close to Phendrana in the days to come – keep him safe, as you promised me you would. I will make my own way."

"I pray that your way does not stray much further from our sovereign's way," the Third Prince confessed monotonously, and then he dissolved into shadow particles just as Aglarel had done.

Twelfth Prince Brennus departed moments later without bothering to see to the drow priestess's body, content in the knowledge that the worshippers of Shar would come up with a suitable means of disposing of it.

---

It was some time later when Lamorak at last stumbled upon Phendrana, having returned from his rounds with Aglarel empty-handed; the doppelganger had hidden himself away in a mostly-private corner of the palace gardens, huddled in an almost childlike position beneath a towering globe willow with his back against the tree's broad trunk. The mindmaster did not even look up when Lamorak completed his approach, and after several long minutes of unfilled silence it became apparent that Phendrana had no intention of speaking at all. Lamorak cut to the chase. "The drow must be gone by now – he is nowhere to be found. Aglarel and I have scoured every last crevice of the city, but to no avail. Somehow the assassin has eluded us." Still the doppelganger did not speak, or even make a move to show that he had heard a single word Lamorak had said; glancing down the Determinist Prime noticed that Phendrana was twisting something between his graceful, abnormally long fingers. "What have you got there?"

Phendrana started and dropped the trinket to the ground before snatching it possessively back up, but not quickly enough to avoid giving Lamorak a decent glimpse of what he held – a strap of supple black velvet upon which was sewn a handsome jade the size of a silver piece. Curiously enough there seemed to be a liberal smear of some viscous, inky black fluid staining the face of the gem, but Phendrana was concealing it between his clasped hands now and Lamorak could only speculate as to what it might be. "It's mine," muttered Phendrana beneath his breath, his shoulders hunched and his eyes wide and unblinking, and to Lamorak the doppelganger sounded quite deranged. "He stole it from me, but I took it back."

"Who stole it from you?" the Determinist Prime asked gently, but a piercing wail struck up from somewhere not far away, demanding his attention; for the first time Lamorak noticed that the palace gardens were in a state of complete pandemonium, filled with lesser male nobles running back and forth wearing panic-stricken expressions and their female counterparts sobbing into their own outstretched hands. The more he watched the sycophantic, devastated members of the Upper Court, the more he became convinced that something was dreadfully wrong. "Did something happen in my absence?"

Phendrana was clutching his head earnestly in his hands now and rocking back and forth like a child attempting to drive away the lasting effects of a particularly violent nightmare, his fingertips curled into claws and his knuckles digging into his temples. "He's dead," he said hollowly, his voice cracking hideously on the final word, and Lamorak felt his eyebrows shoot up.

"Who is dead, Phendrana?"

"What?" barked the doppelganger impatiently, lifting his head and fixing Lamorak with a vacant, empty expression; Lamorak felt his own eyes widen as he met that hollow stare, struck momentarily speechless and terrified at the hopelessness in Phendrana's eyes. It was almost as though Phendrana couldn't even see him at all – as though he was translucent and Phendrana was gazing right through him. "I can't hear you. I can't hear anything. All I can hear is him screaming."

Though Lamorak couldn't make sense of these words, that didn't stop them from sending a chill down his spine. He made a conscious effort to crouch down at the doppelganger's side despite the fact that he had never been so repulsed by Phendrana before, and said insistently, "No one is screaming, Phendrana." But this wasn't entirely true anymore; the midnight air was suddenly a din of anguished cries, men and women alike lamenting as though their hearts were shattering within their chests, and the sensation that something was horribly wrong manifested with even greater strength within Lamorak.

"I just want him to stop screaming," Phendrana begged desperately, seizing the collar of Lamorak's undershirt with both hands, his fingers twisting almost painfully in the fabric as he forced the prince to look him directly in the eye. "I don't want this… it feels so wrong. All I wanted to do was help him. He wanted to die, he told me to let him die, but I didn't listen. I wanted to keep him. I had to keep him. And now he's going to make me regret it every moment of every day until I go insane."

Lamorak forcibly disentangled himself from the doppelganger's grasping hands, suddenly unable to abide being in such close proximity to him; there was no denying the fact that Phendrana's disturbing words and the low, frantic cadence of his voice had him feeling distinctly unnerved, and the wails of the despairing nobles had now reached a nigh-unbearable crescendo. Suddenly Lamorak was seized with the desperate need to be somewhere, anywhere, but here. "Let me take you home, Phendrana," he said in what was meant to be a warm and inviting tone, but his voice quavered near the end and the effect was lost. "Let's go back to Villa Tareia and have Lux brew us some tea and stoke us a fire. Would you like that?"

"Yes," said Phendrana blandly, his eyes too wide and his voice too high. "I would like that very much."

Neither of them had the presence of mind to shadow walk away from that awful place, where now it seemed even the trees were shrieking aloud with heart-wrenching misery; Lamorak simply led the way and Phendrana followed meekly behind like a sheep being led to the slaughter, and with each and every step he took the miserable screams of the newly-assimilated shadow sorcerer Hadrhune echoed louder and louder throughout the cavernous expanse of the doppelganger's newly-fractured mind until Phendrana felt his eardrums rupture and begin to bleed.