It was a disconsolate party that Alustriel found upon her return to the camp. The two adventurers who had been nearly consumed by magic seemed to have recovered themselves somewhat under the ministrations of the two priestesses, but were still obviously weak and quite ill from the experience. Shaliira had recovered a bit of motion as the paralytic effects of the ghoul's touch began to wear off. She would be in considerable pain for a while as her muscles and tendons recovered from the terrible cramping. The now spell-less Taruele just sat and stared vacantly into the fire.

The others reacted to Alustriel's reappearance with obvious relief. "Are we glad to see you," said Catlindra. "We thought maybe that blue fire had destroyed you."

"No," smiled Alustriel. "You might say the blue fire and I have something of an understanding. And speaking of it, how are our two new guests?"

"Capable of answering questions," replied Jandeth, "but I'm afraid heavy exercise will be out of the question for some time."

Alustriel knelt next to the man, who seemed the more alert of the two. She heartily dreaded the answers she would receive to the questions she had to ask. She drew a deep breath and rubbed her hands up and down her thighs, taking comfort in the feel of the soft doeskin stretched tight against her legs, and the faint tingle of power that emanated from the enchanted garment.

"Now, sir," she began gently. "Perhaps you could tell me how you and your companions happened into such a predicament?"

The man began to speak but fell immediately into a fit of coughing. Alustriel waited silently as he cleared his throat, and finally found his weak voice.

"We came here...to seek a fortune among the ruins," he said haltingly. "My brother Haran, my wife Amara, and myself...I'm Turimin Santher, of Deepingdale."

"I'm sorry for what happened to your brother," said Alustriel. This brought on a fresh wave of coughing from Turimin. When he recovered, there was a light of anger in his eyes.

"Yes...my brother. That is a score I shall live to see settled, lady, though I never see the sun rise again after that."

"And who is to be the recipient of your vengeance?"

Turimin made an effort to sit up, but Jandeth laid a warning hand on him and he settled for rolling over onto his side. He pointed out into the night and said, in a clear voice dripping venom, "That lich-lord. Marogance Black-beard."

Alustriel closed her eyes at the painful words. Her old tutor, Master Marogance. She heard Catlindra ask Turimin where this lich could be found.

"In the domed building at the end of the long concourse," replied the fallen adventurer. Alustriel's eyes flew open in surprise. The Dome of Birds? An undead lord making his lair so boldly near the Dawnspire? She had just fifteen minutes before been within sight of that building.

"He has demons at his command," came a new, feminine voice; it was Amara. She tried to sit up but fell back as waves of dizziness overwhelmed her. "Demons," she repeated, "and many more ghouls. He caught us in his lair...there was a chest of treasure, just sitting in the middle of the great hall. Haran suspected a trap, but we were so desperate for coin...we lost our farm..." Chaldara took the woman's hand comfortingly, and brushed the long tangle of brown hair out of Amara's pretty face. "Then, he was there. We were surrounded by six-armed demons of darkness, and Marogance stood before us, with those ghouls behind him. We'd heard stories about him, of course, but we didn't look to find him in this part of the city. He held a strange-looking golden stone in his hand."

" 'Thank you for being so stupid', he said. 'Now I have a bit of a job for you.' Then he did something with the stone, and power started pouring into us...it seemed to come from the sky, and from all around us."

"At first it felt so good...but it didn't stop. Lady, imagine someone pouring wine into your mouth. The first few swallows are wonderful, but then your belly is full, and still it flows into you. You choke, you strangle on it, but still it won't stop...he just wouldn't stop..." She subsided into uncontrollable sobs.

Turimin's sullen voice continued the tale. "He filled us until we could hold no more. Then a wave of his hand, and we found ourselves out in these streets, with your campfire visible between the buildings. The ghouls were there with us. We could think of nothing but getting help. We couldn't breathe, we knew we would die if someone couldn't help. We couldn't even think what it would look like to you, three blue-glowing phantoms stumbling out of the night breathing fire, and accompanied by ghouls. Then the lady cast her spell at Haran...that extra bit of magic just was too much. He could hold it no longer." Turimin shook his head ruefully. "Not her fault."

Catlindra touched Alustriel's arm, and led her off out of the earshot of the two adventurers. "Lady...you said this Lord Marogance was a friend of yours?"

Alustriel sighed. "When I was young, hundreds of years ago, the Lady Mystra decided that I should be raised in the house of a great Harper, Thamator the Old. After a somewhat...well, unpleasant time, it was decided that I should study magic. My first tutor was the wizard Marogance."

"Marogance was a direct descendant of one of the great mage families of Netheril. He claimed kinship to the archmages Raumark and Hilather, one of whom founded the wizard-kingdom of Halruaa, and the other of whom became the Master of Undermountain. Impressive credentials, to be sure, if not entirely reassuring ones."

"He wasn't an evil man. A bit arrogant, a bit self-absorbed, but not evil. He took a great liking to me. Bright-Eyes, he named me. And I liked him as well. If it weren't for him, I might never have continued in the study of the Art." Alustriel sighed and gazed wistfully off into the night.

"After his time with me was finished, he went off in search of lost lore and magical discoveries. Every few years I would visit him, or he me. He gave me a token-stone. If he ever needed to meet with me, the stone would call to me, and when I took it in my hand it would relay his message."

"I hardly noticed the change in him, since I saw him so seldom. The evil that grew within him was one of self-interest only, not destructive toward others. He grew old. The greatest price we Chosen of Mystra pay for our immortality, aside from the great responsibility, is having to watch our friends grow old and die around us. But though Marogance grew old, he never died. I suspected he used magic to prolong his life, but then on one of my rare visits, I detected an odd smell. He had dressed in a cowled cloak, even though it was the depth of summer. When at last I could look at his face, I saw that he had become a walking corpse...a lich. It was the last time I ever saw him. That was two hundred years ago."

"Then, earlier this evening, I heard the call of his token-stone. I took it in my hand, and heard him say that he feared his doom was upon him. He called me to come to him. And so I did."

Catlindra shook her head sadly. "From what we've seen here tonight," she said, "it looks as if he's the bringer of doom rather than its victim. Maybe his message to you was a trap...you never know how centuries of undeath might warp the mind, turning old loves into festering obsessions."

Alustriel paused a long time before responding. "Even if that's so," she said, "I have to go and find him...to find out what he's become, and to...destroy him, if necessary."

Catlindra gave a low whistle. "Destroy a lich-lord," she said with a short laugh. "Not a challenge for the likes of you, perhaps."

"I wouldn't be so sure," replied Alustriel, gravely. "That golden stone our guests mentioned: it sounds like a Great Keystone."

Catlindra shook her head. "I've never heard of that. What's a Great Keystone?"

"When a mythal is created...an art that was lost to mortals long ago...the matrix to control it must be placed into a gem known as a Great Keystone. The Stone is buried deep in some secret location, and as long as it endures, the mythal can't be undone. But if anyone should find the Stone and bend it to his will, he can control its powers to a great extent...and even bring it down entirely. The power that Marogance poured into Turimin and Amara and Haran was, I think, the power of the mythal itself. I could feel it when it was inside me. I'm sensitive to such things."

"Then we must get the stone away from him."

"Yes, we must."

Just then a blazing light erupted from between two ruined buildings on the outskirts of the camp. From beyond the blinding glare came an authoritative voice. "What befalls here?" it said.

Alustriel looked about her. All of her companions were outlined in auras of light pink. She smiled as she recognized the effects of a priestly watchlight spell – recognized it, because her little sister Qilue had invented it for use in her subterranean temple to Eilistraee, the goddess of those drow who rejected the evil teachings of their dark gods. Qilue had taught the spell to the priests of Lathander in gratitude for some great favor. The spell could tell good from evil by illuminating the good with a pink aura, and the evil with an angry red one. Anyone bathed in its light could not lie about his or her true identity, and undead were greatly harmed by it. Even the corpses of the destroyed ghouls were hissing and melting away like ice on a hot pavement.

"Greetings, Morninglords," she called. "I am Alustriel, the High Lady of Silverymoon, and these are my friends."

"Alustriel of Silverymoon? Ah, great blazing heavens above!"

A short paunchy man hurried forward from behind the blazing light and went to Alustriel, fussing all the way. He wore white priestly robes, and the pink disc of Lathander dangled from a chain around his neck. His hair was cropped into a tonsure, and a pair of poorly-fitted spectacles perched on his nose. They slipped off as he bent to kiss Alustriel's hand, but caught them with a well-practiced hand before they could drop to the pavement.

"Indeed it is an honor. But why camp out here when you are so close to the temple? It is an honor indeed. Ghouls! And so close to the temple! Truly all is not right, truly. I am Morninglord Sephin, and I welcome you to the precincts of the Dawnspire....violated! By these blasted ghouls. This just won't do."

Three other priests stepped out into the light and restrained the babbling Sephin. "Lady Alustriel, you have wounded?" one of them asked.

"Yes. Two victims of magical overload, one recovering from a ghoul's touch, and one mage deprived of her magic."

"Perhaps we should take them back to the temple, where they can receive attention."

"I thank you for that offer, but Catlindra is the leader of this party."

"I thank you as well," said Catlindra, "and we will accept your offer."

And so they were led off, Turimin and Amara carried by strong young novices who waited in the shadows to assist their elders, Shaliira protesting that she had had far worse and that this wasn't the first case of ghoul paralysis she had had (but wincing in pain with every movement), and Taruele giving Alustriel a small and somewhat embarrassed smile as she went off with the priests. Alustriel smiled back at her, knowing that the young mage would be all right eventually. The procession started into the shadows in the direction of the Dawnspire, and the sounds of Sephin's fussing voice faded into the distance.

"Will you come and stay the night under our roof?" offered the last of the priests.

"No," replied Alustriel, "although it's a gracious offer. I'm afraid that I have pressing affairs to attend to that can't wait until tomorrow. But my companions may wish to take up your offer."

Catlindra grinned at her. "But there are no liches to be fought beneath the sheets of a stuffed bed, my lady," she said. "Lead on."

"I'd hoped to hear you say that," said Alustriel, smiling back at her.