The ancient trees of the Faydark towered over her. Very little daylight
penetrated the thick foliage. She walked through a perpetual twilight, her
lantern a tiny beacon of light in the surrounding gloom.
Naramira kept her Invisibility spell up. After the incident with the goblin shaman in the Butcherblock Mountains, she was taking no chances. Greater Faydark seemed safer to her, although the absence of the sun's rays made her uncomfortable. Born and raised in a coastal desert town, the sun beating relentlessly down on her had always been a given, something she sorely missed at the moment.
An unexpected sound drew her attention. A faerie was flying towards her, completely unaware of the young enchantress' presence. At least, she thought it was a faerie. The little creature was as small as Naramira's hand, tiny crystalline wings beating with a musical hum.
Naramira longed to touch the little creature, but she was afraid. She'd heard stories of faeries playing nasty tricks on unwary travellers. Naramira was no longer an 'unwary traveller'. She watched the faerie disappear in the mist, then continued on her way along the winding road.
She had no sense of time. She could have been walking for hours, her feet were certainly tired enough for it. She wondered if she were to sleep under a tree that night.
At first she thought she was imagining it, then that the faerie had indeed seen her and was playing with her mind. But no, she really was hearing music and it was drifting down from the trees. She looked up and saw something that left her speechless with wonder.
Kelethin was a city built high up in the treetops. Suspension bridges swayed between the platforms and there were no railings to keep one from falling. She heard laughter and the sounds of people bartering in the marketplace. It sounded like a friendly town, so she let her Invisibility spell drop.
She saw a movement in the mist and the figure of an elven guard materialised. "Who goes there?" he called to her.
"My name is Naramira," she replied somewhat hesitantly. "I have journeyed from afar to see the wonders of this fair city."
"Then be welcome to Kelethin, weary traveller. The Traveller's Rest is where you should be headed. You'll find a warm welcome and a comfy bed there. Here," he motioned to a wooden platform nearby. "You stand on this bit, then press this button and the lift will take you up to the first level."
'Ingenious,' Naramira thought to herself. 'I wish the Academy had a device like this.'
She thanked the guard and used the lift to take her upwards, straight into the heart of the elven city's lively marketplace. A group of bards were playing a frisky tune in one corner, which made Naramira smile with delight. Merchants were displaying their wares, elves were bustling about or chatting with friends. Here and there a dwarf or another human was making a purchase or coming out of a tavern. No one was taking any notice at all of the human girl in their midst.
High up in the trees, Naramira could tell that it was in fact getting late and she was tired from her long journey, so she decided to leave exploring the city for the next day. She confronted a merchant and asked the woman where the Traveller's Rest was.
"Platform 19", the elf replied. "Can I interest you in some leather leggings? Made from genuine Oasis crocodile leather imported all the way from Antonica."
"Uh, no thanks. Where is platform 19?"
"This is platform 15. How about a steel scimitar? Feel how light and razor- sharp it is. Guaranteed to slice through an orc like a hot knife through butter."
"No thanks. Where did you say platform 19 was?" Naramira persisted.
"Look, are you going to buy anything from me?" the merchant demanded.
Naramira shook her head. "I don't think so. Unless you're selling a map to platform 19."
"If you're not going to buy anything, can you move along please? You're blocking the customers."
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me how to get to platform 19," Naramira insisted. She was getting slightly annoyed and wondered if the tales of elven haughtiness were indeed true.
"Take the bridge to platform 18, then go over the bridge to platform 19," the merchant said while trying to push Naramira out of the way.
"But there are three bridges. Which one goes to platform 18?"
"The left one!" The women threw her hands in the air in exasperation.
"Thank you," Naramira said, relieved.
"Humans," she heard the merchant mutter under her breath, before putting on a bright smile and trying to lure another customer to her stall.
The innkeeper certainly didn't have anything against humans and greeted her with the pleasure of seeing a lost child return home. He showed her to a comfortable room with a view of the valley and bid her join his other patrons for dinner in the common-room a bit later.
She accepted his offer and found herself soon after sitting near a group of rowdy adventurers, loudly bragging about their latest escapade. She tried not to listen to their conversation, but couldn't help but look up from her plate at the sound of a familiar voice.
"Can you imagine the look on DVinn's face when he notices it's gone?" the wood-elf laughed.
"Breya?" Naramira said, loud enough to be heard at the next table.
The young druid looked startled and then recognised the enchantress. "Naramira! Come sit with us, you have to hear about our adventure in Crushbone." She beckoned to Naramira and then got the rest of the company to move up to make space for her at the table.
Naramira accepted and laughingly said: "I think the whole inn heard what happened in Crushbone. Who is this DVinn and what did you take from him?"
Breya glowed with pride and brought forth a shiny brass shield from under the table. "DVinn is the dark-elf ambassador stationed at Crushbone and this shield is one of his most prized family treasures. It protects the bearer against magical attacks." She grinned from ear to ear. "I'm going to put it to good use when we go back there tomorrow."
Naramira frowned. "What's a dark-elf doing in Faydwer?" She had never seen a dark-elf before, but she had heard many gruesome tales about them. They served the God of Hate, Innoruuk, and were the sworn enemies of all the good races, especially of elves. As a follower of Erollisi Marr, Naramira was honour-bound to protect the innocent from all evil beings. She wondered, if it came to the test, if she would be able to keep that vow.
Another member of the group, a tall high-elf with an arrogant cast to his face, replied: "Crushbone is the home of the local orc clan. Their emperor hates all good elves, but even an untrained elf was a match for an orc. So he asked for help from Neriak and they sent DVinn to advise him. Since his arrival, the orcs have been more organised, better trained. They prowl the valley at night times, taking elves, gnomes or sometimes even a dwarf caught unawares as slaves."
"But we get them back," another wood-elf replied. He unsheathed a steel sword strapped to his back and started polishing it. "Every now and then a raiding party goes to Crushbone to free the slaves and cause some havoc under the orcs. It's a dangerous venture, requiring stealth and a lot of backbone. In there, we are usually outnumbered one to twenty."
"And tales told by some of the rescued prisoners are enough to make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end," a high-elf girl added. She was clad in rusty chain mail and a book of prayer lay on the table by her side. "DVinn is a dark-elf to the core. He relishes in torturing his victims. They say the screams sometimes endure throughout the night and the next morn, the slaves would be sent in to wash the blood off the walls, no other sign left of the prisoner."
Naramira trembled slightly and it seemed the brightly-lit room had darkened with their tales of dread. Before she had come to Faydwer, she would have relished the chance to go on an adventure like this, but now she wasn't so sure. She'd lost some faith in her abilities. She was afraid she would be a liability on a dangerous mission such as this. And she had no wish to be scraped off the walls either.
"Would you like to come with us tomorrow, Naramira?" Breya asked. She inclined her head towards the arrogant high-elf and said: "Lenaron has been summoned by his guildmaster and is returning to Felwithe in the morning. We will need another enchanter."
"I... I..." she hesitated. She did not want to be thought a coward, but she was too afraid to accept the invitation. "I don't think I have the skills needed for a mission such as this," she replied.
"Oh," disappointment was plainly etched on Breya's face. "Alright then. I suppose we could manage on our own." She quickly overcame the awkward silence by ordering another round of ale and one of the other members of the group started recounting a funny thing that had happened to him on the way to Kelethin. Soon the party was laughing boisterously again, all sombre thoughts forgotten for the moment.
Naramira went up to her room not long after. Although no one had said anything, she could not help but feel that the looks they gave her were filled with reproach and even a little disgust. 'Or maybe that's how I feel about myself,' she thought as she gazed out over the dark valley from her window. Try as she might, she could not bring herself to go downstairs again to tell Breya that she would join them after all.
The adventurers had already left by the time she went downstairs the next morning. She tried to put all thoughts of them out of her mind and set about exploring the city.
The streets of Kelethin was just as busy that day as it had been the previous day. She wandered from platform to platform, browsing shopkeepers' wares and sampling some of the local food. There were groups of bards playing on various platforms, with street actors performing in front of crowds of people. The air was filled with music and laughter. Naramira's mood lifted and she spent the day thoroughly enjoying herself.
She lingered two or three days longer in Kelethin, but the urge to travel further took hold of her soon after. She paid for her stay early one morning and the affable innkeeper kindly gave her directions to Felwithe, which he said was not far from the wood-elven city and was a sight she should not miss. She hitched her satchel with her few belongings on her back, took the lift down to the ground again and followed the road southwards.
******
Naramira stood before the gates of the magnificent high-elven city, once again amazed by the sight that confronted her. Felwithe was a fortress- castle built from shining white stone. Colourful pennons flapped in the breeze and guards outfitted in burnished plate armour protected the gates. A mountain loomed from behind the city walls.
The guards saluted her as she walked past them into a broad brightly-lit tunnel carved from the mountainside. It was nothing like the tunnels of Kaladim. She passed through it to enter the city itself. Blue skies shone down on white stone buildings, well-tended gardens and a crystal-clear river running through the city and into a lake just within view of the gates. Somewhere in the distance, Naramira could hear the pure notes of a harp being played. She was enthralled by the beauty of the city.
Felwithe was not a bustling trader's metropolitan, although the streets were filled with small craftsman's shops, smithies, jewellers and bakeries. The city was a centre for art, learning and the quiet contemplation of life, Naramira realised as she walked its broad, paved streets. High-elves, with their noble faces and proud bearing, were quietly conversing in groups of three or four. The whole city bespoke of serenity and inner peace.
They were a martial race too, though. She visited the Defender's Hall and the Temple of Tunare, where she saw the paladins and clerics practising with sword and mace. They were all very adept, proving the truth of rumours she had heard that high-elves were some of Norrath's best fighters. After they had cleaned up and put their weapons away, Naramira followed them into the Hall of Worship where they sang about the beauty of nature, giving praise to Tunare, Mother of All.
Naramira ambled along the streets, past the lake and through another mountain tunnel where she came upon a tower rising up into the clouds. She was curious, it reminded her of home. She passed through a set of stout oaken doors into a room that had three transporter stones in it. Three different banners hung from the ceiling behind each of the transporters. One she recognised: the all-seeing eye of the enchanter. She placed her hands on the cool stone and was instantly transported into a vast hall where green-robed elves were talking quietly or studying by the light of random light-stones.
"Welcome to the Hall of Enchantment, young Initiate," a tall elven woman came up to her, smiling kindly. "Are you in need of aid? Is there anything I can do for you?"
Naramira thanked the woman, but assured her that she did not need anything. The elf smiled and left her free to wander around the hall. Naramira admired the green robes the elves wore. She examined her own purple robe. It was becoming slightly the worse for wear, the hem tattered at places and she knew the bloodstain at the back where an orc had once stabbed her would never come out. She asked one of the Initiates where she could purchase such a robe and was directed to the Hall's seamstress. Naramira sold her old purple robe, feeling slightly sentimental and almost reconsidered, but in the end she did part with it and acquired a soft-spun green robe she wore proudly for many months to come.
As she roamed the Hall's corridors, a longing to return home suddenly overcame her. She'd been travelling through Faydwer for just over a month now, and although she'd seen many strange and wonderful sights, she missed the warm sunshine and salty smell of the sea. She wanted to sleep in her own bed in her little room high up in the Academy. And most of all, she wanted to speak to Master Jusathorn, wanted him to help her overcome the fear she had discovered in herself.
She was on her way to the transporter stone, deep in thought, when she almost walked into someone. "Watch where you're going," the elf said irritably.
"Sorry," Naramira apologised, and then recognised Breya's arrogant high-elf companion she had met in Kelethin. "Oh, hello, Lenaron. Nice to see a familiar face."
He looked displeased to see her. "Yes, I'm sure it is."
Naramira cleared her throat, uncertainly. "Well, it's a long journey back home. I'd better go," she said uncomfortably.
Lenaron frowned. "You're travelling by foot? Surely it makes more sense to open a Gate? Where is your soul bound?"
"My soul?" Naramira was confused.
"You have never visited a soulbinder? A Gate should take you right back to your birthplace then."
"I don't understand," Naramira confessed.
"I'm sure you don't," he replied haughtily. "Surely you have learnt the Gate spell by now. Cast it, and a magical portal will open that will take you to Freeport, or wherever it is you came from."
Naramira took her spellbook out of her satchel and quickly memorised the spell she had not thought to test so far. She said the incantation and a slash of light opened a hole in the air through which a blast of hot air wafted, the West Gate plainly in sight.
"Thank you, Lenaron," Naramira said gratefully. She was glad she did not have to travel through the Butcherblock Mountains again on her way home. "Give my regards to Breya and the others."
"Breya is dead."
Naramira stopped with her foot in mid-air through the portal. "What?" she asked, sure she must have heard wrong, or misunderstood him.
"You heard me. She's dead. They're all dead." The high-elf showed no emotion other than a deep-seated rage. "They were overwhelmed. Only my sister escaped to tell the tale, and she died of her wounds a day later."
Naramira's lower lip trembled. Dead. Maybe if she'd been there, she could have prevented it. Breya had been a friend. Dead.
"I'm truly sorry, Lenaron," she managed to say. Tears were flowing freely down her face.
"So am I," was all he replied.
******
Master Jusathorn's unblinking gaze was as unnerving as ever. Naramira had recounted all that had happened to her. She hoped her guildmaster could reassure her and help her through this crisis. She fidgeted slightly in her chair, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.
The Aviak ruffled his feathers. "There is nothing I can do for you, young Initiate."
All Naramira's hopes sunk down into her boots. What was she to do? If Master Jusathorn could not help her, who could?
The guildmaster was not finished speaking though. "Each of us comes before this decision sooner or later. Do we choose a safe life, following a respectable profession or becoming a tradesman, or do we confront our fears and follow the path that leads to a higher destiny?" He paused to let his words sink in. "If you choose the safe life you may be content, or discontent as your heart guides you, and live to see a hundred years pass by. Or you may die two years from now, choking on a fishbone during dinner." He gave her time to consider this. "On the second path the risks are greater, but then the rewards may be greater as well. You could die a month from now, but you could die gloriously, your name and your deeds forever remembered in song. So you see, Naramira, your future is what you make of it. All you need to do is decide what you want from life."
Naramira sat wordlessly staring out the window, considering the guildmaster's words. She saw her life pass before her eyes as if she had already lived it. She had a little jeweller's shop of her own in North Freeport, not far from the marketplace. Merchants travelled from as far as Qeynos to purchase her exquisite ornaments. A few years later and she was happily married to a baker, a gentle man who liked to treat the street children of East Freeport with bags of sweet-pies and cookies. She had children of her own. She was happy. She was old and her hair had turned silver. She was cleaning the house when she came upon an old dusty book. She opened it and squinted to read the tiny characters written in a neat, precise hand. There were only twenty-one spells copied into the discarded book.
Naramira's thoughts snapped back to the present. How long had she been daydreaming? How much of Master Jusathorn's time had she taken up? She blushed but met his unwavering gaze steadily.
"You have made your decision, young Initiate," he observed.
"I have, Master."
"Then may it lead you where you want to be, Naramira."
She walked out of the guildmaster's study, no longer doubting her future. She had made her decision and she would keep to it. She set out, trembling, to confront her fears.
Naramira kept her Invisibility spell up. After the incident with the goblin shaman in the Butcherblock Mountains, she was taking no chances. Greater Faydark seemed safer to her, although the absence of the sun's rays made her uncomfortable. Born and raised in a coastal desert town, the sun beating relentlessly down on her had always been a given, something she sorely missed at the moment.
An unexpected sound drew her attention. A faerie was flying towards her, completely unaware of the young enchantress' presence. At least, she thought it was a faerie. The little creature was as small as Naramira's hand, tiny crystalline wings beating with a musical hum.
Naramira longed to touch the little creature, but she was afraid. She'd heard stories of faeries playing nasty tricks on unwary travellers. Naramira was no longer an 'unwary traveller'. She watched the faerie disappear in the mist, then continued on her way along the winding road.
She had no sense of time. She could have been walking for hours, her feet were certainly tired enough for it. She wondered if she were to sleep under a tree that night.
At first she thought she was imagining it, then that the faerie had indeed seen her and was playing with her mind. But no, she really was hearing music and it was drifting down from the trees. She looked up and saw something that left her speechless with wonder.
Kelethin was a city built high up in the treetops. Suspension bridges swayed between the platforms and there were no railings to keep one from falling. She heard laughter and the sounds of people bartering in the marketplace. It sounded like a friendly town, so she let her Invisibility spell drop.
She saw a movement in the mist and the figure of an elven guard materialised. "Who goes there?" he called to her.
"My name is Naramira," she replied somewhat hesitantly. "I have journeyed from afar to see the wonders of this fair city."
"Then be welcome to Kelethin, weary traveller. The Traveller's Rest is where you should be headed. You'll find a warm welcome and a comfy bed there. Here," he motioned to a wooden platform nearby. "You stand on this bit, then press this button and the lift will take you up to the first level."
'Ingenious,' Naramira thought to herself. 'I wish the Academy had a device like this.'
She thanked the guard and used the lift to take her upwards, straight into the heart of the elven city's lively marketplace. A group of bards were playing a frisky tune in one corner, which made Naramira smile with delight. Merchants were displaying their wares, elves were bustling about or chatting with friends. Here and there a dwarf or another human was making a purchase or coming out of a tavern. No one was taking any notice at all of the human girl in their midst.
High up in the trees, Naramira could tell that it was in fact getting late and she was tired from her long journey, so she decided to leave exploring the city for the next day. She confronted a merchant and asked the woman where the Traveller's Rest was.
"Platform 19", the elf replied. "Can I interest you in some leather leggings? Made from genuine Oasis crocodile leather imported all the way from Antonica."
"Uh, no thanks. Where is platform 19?"
"This is platform 15. How about a steel scimitar? Feel how light and razor- sharp it is. Guaranteed to slice through an orc like a hot knife through butter."
"No thanks. Where did you say platform 19 was?" Naramira persisted.
"Look, are you going to buy anything from me?" the merchant demanded.
Naramira shook her head. "I don't think so. Unless you're selling a map to platform 19."
"If you're not going to buy anything, can you move along please? You're blocking the customers."
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me how to get to platform 19," Naramira insisted. She was getting slightly annoyed and wondered if the tales of elven haughtiness were indeed true.
"Take the bridge to platform 18, then go over the bridge to platform 19," the merchant said while trying to push Naramira out of the way.
"But there are three bridges. Which one goes to platform 18?"
"The left one!" The women threw her hands in the air in exasperation.
"Thank you," Naramira said, relieved.
"Humans," she heard the merchant mutter under her breath, before putting on a bright smile and trying to lure another customer to her stall.
The innkeeper certainly didn't have anything against humans and greeted her with the pleasure of seeing a lost child return home. He showed her to a comfortable room with a view of the valley and bid her join his other patrons for dinner in the common-room a bit later.
She accepted his offer and found herself soon after sitting near a group of rowdy adventurers, loudly bragging about their latest escapade. She tried not to listen to their conversation, but couldn't help but look up from her plate at the sound of a familiar voice.
"Can you imagine the look on DVinn's face when he notices it's gone?" the wood-elf laughed.
"Breya?" Naramira said, loud enough to be heard at the next table.
The young druid looked startled and then recognised the enchantress. "Naramira! Come sit with us, you have to hear about our adventure in Crushbone." She beckoned to Naramira and then got the rest of the company to move up to make space for her at the table.
Naramira accepted and laughingly said: "I think the whole inn heard what happened in Crushbone. Who is this DVinn and what did you take from him?"
Breya glowed with pride and brought forth a shiny brass shield from under the table. "DVinn is the dark-elf ambassador stationed at Crushbone and this shield is one of his most prized family treasures. It protects the bearer against magical attacks." She grinned from ear to ear. "I'm going to put it to good use when we go back there tomorrow."
Naramira frowned. "What's a dark-elf doing in Faydwer?" She had never seen a dark-elf before, but she had heard many gruesome tales about them. They served the God of Hate, Innoruuk, and were the sworn enemies of all the good races, especially of elves. As a follower of Erollisi Marr, Naramira was honour-bound to protect the innocent from all evil beings. She wondered, if it came to the test, if she would be able to keep that vow.
Another member of the group, a tall high-elf with an arrogant cast to his face, replied: "Crushbone is the home of the local orc clan. Their emperor hates all good elves, but even an untrained elf was a match for an orc. So he asked for help from Neriak and they sent DVinn to advise him. Since his arrival, the orcs have been more organised, better trained. They prowl the valley at night times, taking elves, gnomes or sometimes even a dwarf caught unawares as slaves."
"But we get them back," another wood-elf replied. He unsheathed a steel sword strapped to his back and started polishing it. "Every now and then a raiding party goes to Crushbone to free the slaves and cause some havoc under the orcs. It's a dangerous venture, requiring stealth and a lot of backbone. In there, we are usually outnumbered one to twenty."
"And tales told by some of the rescued prisoners are enough to make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end," a high-elf girl added. She was clad in rusty chain mail and a book of prayer lay on the table by her side. "DVinn is a dark-elf to the core. He relishes in torturing his victims. They say the screams sometimes endure throughout the night and the next morn, the slaves would be sent in to wash the blood off the walls, no other sign left of the prisoner."
Naramira trembled slightly and it seemed the brightly-lit room had darkened with their tales of dread. Before she had come to Faydwer, she would have relished the chance to go on an adventure like this, but now she wasn't so sure. She'd lost some faith in her abilities. She was afraid she would be a liability on a dangerous mission such as this. And she had no wish to be scraped off the walls either.
"Would you like to come with us tomorrow, Naramira?" Breya asked. She inclined her head towards the arrogant high-elf and said: "Lenaron has been summoned by his guildmaster and is returning to Felwithe in the morning. We will need another enchanter."
"I... I..." she hesitated. She did not want to be thought a coward, but she was too afraid to accept the invitation. "I don't think I have the skills needed for a mission such as this," she replied.
"Oh," disappointment was plainly etched on Breya's face. "Alright then. I suppose we could manage on our own." She quickly overcame the awkward silence by ordering another round of ale and one of the other members of the group started recounting a funny thing that had happened to him on the way to Kelethin. Soon the party was laughing boisterously again, all sombre thoughts forgotten for the moment.
Naramira went up to her room not long after. Although no one had said anything, she could not help but feel that the looks they gave her were filled with reproach and even a little disgust. 'Or maybe that's how I feel about myself,' she thought as she gazed out over the dark valley from her window. Try as she might, she could not bring herself to go downstairs again to tell Breya that she would join them after all.
The adventurers had already left by the time she went downstairs the next morning. She tried to put all thoughts of them out of her mind and set about exploring the city.
The streets of Kelethin was just as busy that day as it had been the previous day. She wandered from platform to platform, browsing shopkeepers' wares and sampling some of the local food. There were groups of bards playing on various platforms, with street actors performing in front of crowds of people. The air was filled with music and laughter. Naramira's mood lifted and she spent the day thoroughly enjoying herself.
She lingered two or three days longer in Kelethin, but the urge to travel further took hold of her soon after. She paid for her stay early one morning and the affable innkeeper kindly gave her directions to Felwithe, which he said was not far from the wood-elven city and was a sight she should not miss. She hitched her satchel with her few belongings on her back, took the lift down to the ground again and followed the road southwards.
******
Naramira stood before the gates of the magnificent high-elven city, once again amazed by the sight that confronted her. Felwithe was a fortress- castle built from shining white stone. Colourful pennons flapped in the breeze and guards outfitted in burnished plate armour protected the gates. A mountain loomed from behind the city walls.
The guards saluted her as she walked past them into a broad brightly-lit tunnel carved from the mountainside. It was nothing like the tunnels of Kaladim. She passed through it to enter the city itself. Blue skies shone down on white stone buildings, well-tended gardens and a crystal-clear river running through the city and into a lake just within view of the gates. Somewhere in the distance, Naramira could hear the pure notes of a harp being played. She was enthralled by the beauty of the city.
Felwithe was not a bustling trader's metropolitan, although the streets were filled with small craftsman's shops, smithies, jewellers and bakeries. The city was a centre for art, learning and the quiet contemplation of life, Naramira realised as she walked its broad, paved streets. High-elves, with their noble faces and proud bearing, were quietly conversing in groups of three or four. The whole city bespoke of serenity and inner peace.
They were a martial race too, though. She visited the Defender's Hall and the Temple of Tunare, where she saw the paladins and clerics practising with sword and mace. They were all very adept, proving the truth of rumours she had heard that high-elves were some of Norrath's best fighters. After they had cleaned up and put their weapons away, Naramira followed them into the Hall of Worship where they sang about the beauty of nature, giving praise to Tunare, Mother of All.
Naramira ambled along the streets, past the lake and through another mountain tunnel where she came upon a tower rising up into the clouds. She was curious, it reminded her of home. She passed through a set of stout oaken doors into a room that had three transporter stones in it. Three different banners hung from the ceiling behind each of the transporters. One she recognised: the all-seeing eye of the enchanter. She placed her hands on the cool stone and was instantly transported into a vast hall where green-robed elves were talking quietly or studying by the light of random light-stones.
"Welcome to the Hall of Enchantment, young Initiate," a tall elven woman came up to her, smiling kindly. "Are you in need of aid? Is there anything I can do for you?"
Naramira thanked the woman, but assured her that she did not need anything. The elf smiled and left her free to wander around the hall. Naramira admired the green robes the elves wore. She examined her own purple robe. It was becoming slightly the worse for wear, the hem tattered at places and she knew the bloodstain at the back where an orc had once stabbed her would never come out. She asked one of the Initiates where she could purchase such a robe and was directed to the Hall's seamstress. Naramira sold her old purple robe, feeling slightly sentimental and almost reconsidered, but in the end she did part with it and acquired a soft-spun green robe she wore proudly for many months to come.
As she roamed the Hall's corridors, a longing to return home suddenly overcame her. She'd been travelling through Faydwer for just over a month now, and although she'd seen many strange and wonderful sights, she missed the warm sunshine and salty smell of the sea. She wanted to sleep in her own bed in her little room high up in the Academy. And most of all, she wanted to speak to Master Jusathorn, wanted him to help her overcome the fear she had discovered in herself.
She was on her way to the transporter stone, deep in thought, when she almost walked into someone. "Watch where you're going," the elf said irritably.
"Sorry," Naramira apologised, and then recognised Breya's arrogant high-elf companion she had met in Kelethin. "Oh, hello, Lenaron. Nice to see a familiar face."
He looked displeased to see her. "Yes, I'm sure it is."
Naramira cleared her throat, uncertainly. "Well, it's a long journey back home. I'd better go," she said uncomfortably.
Lenaron frowned. "You're travelling by foot? Surely it makes more sense to open a Gate? Where is your soul bound?"
"My soul?" Naramira was confused.
"You have never visited a soulbinder? A Gate should take you right back to your birthplace then."
"I don't understand," Naramira confessed.
"I'm sure you don't," he replied haughtily. "Surely you have learnt the Gate spell by now. Cast it, and a magical portal will open that will take you to Freeport, or wherever it is you came from."
Naramira took her spellbook out of her satchel and quickly memorised the spell she had not thought to test so far. She said the incantation and a slash of light opened a hole in the air through which a blast of hot air wafted, the West Gate plainly in sight.
"Thank you, Lenaron," Naramira said gratefully. She was glad she did not have to travel through the Butcherblock Mountains again on her way home. "Give my regards to Breya and the others."
"Breya is dead."
Naramira stopped with her foot in mid-air through the portal. "What?" she asked, sure she must have heard wrong, or misunderstood him.
"You heard me. She's dead. They're all dead." The high-elf showed no emotion other than a deep-seated rage. "They were overwhelmed. Only my sister escaped to tell the tale, and she died of her wounds a day later."
Naramira's lower lip trembled. Dead. Maybe if she'd been there, she could have prevented it. Breya had been a friend. Dead.
"I'm truly sorry, Lenaron," she managed to say. Tears were flowing freely down her face.
"So am I," was all he replied.
******
Master Jusathorn's unblinking gaze was as unnerving as ever. Naramira had recounted all that had happened to her. She hoped her guildmaster could reassure her and help her through this crisis. She fidgeted slightly in her chair, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.
The Aviak ruffled his feathers. "There is nothing I can do for you, young Initiate."
All Naramira's hopes sunk down into her boots. What was she to do? If Master Jusathorn could not help her, who could?
The guildmaster was not finished speaking though. "Each of us comes before this decision sooner or later. Do we choose a safe life, following a respectable profession or becoming a tradesman, or do we confront our fears and follow the path that leads to a higher destiny?" He paused to let his words sink in. "If you choose the safe life you may be content, or discontent as your heart guides you, and live to see a hundred years pass by. Or you may die two years from now, choking on a fishbone during dinner." He gave her time to consider this. "On the second path the risks are greater, but then the rewards may be greater as well. You could die a month from now, but you could die gloriously, your name and your deeds forever remembered in song. So you see, Naramira, your future is what you make of it. All you need to do is decide what you want from life."
Naramira sat wordlessly staring out the window, considering the guildmaster's words. She saw her life pass before her eyes as if she had already lived it. She had a little jeweller's shop of her own in North Freeport, not far from the marketplace. Merchants travelled from as far as Qeynos to purchase her exquisite ornaments. A few years later and she was happily married to a baker, a gentle man who liked to treat the street children of East Freeport with bags of sweet-pies and cookies. She had children of her own. She was happy. She was old and her hair had turned silver. She was cleaning the house when she came upon an old dusty book. She opened it and squinted to read the tiny characters written in a neat, precise hand. There were only twenty-one spells copied into the discarded book.
Naramira's thoughts snapped back to the present. How long had she been daydreaming? How much of Master Jusathorn's time had she taken up? She blushed but met his unwavering gaze steadily.
"You have made your decision, young Initiate," he observed.
"I have, Master."
"Then may it lead you where you want to be, Naramira."
She walked out of the guildmaster's study, no longer doubting her future. She had made her decision and she would keep to it. She set out, trembling, to confront her fears.