"The Watch cannot thank you enough for your recovery of Issani and your success in slaying the Orcs' leader. I hear that several of you are highly commended for aiding in the defeat of the rest of the clan, and Sir Callum speaks your praises very loudly. He does not give praise lightly, and is rarely ever loud," Captain Brelaina beamed from behind her well-polished desk, "Well done."
"You could thank me enough, 'Captain', if you would just let me go back to The Sunken Flagon. You are lucky that I came here first at all – I am tired from the road and would very much wish to join my companions there," Isaviel told her acidly, "I have done a great deal for your Watch and would be very happy to acquire a permit to the Blacklake now, thank you."
"Though your petulance is not appreciated, I am willing to overlook it in light of your recent activity," Brelaina bristled visibly, folding her arms in front of her and looked over first at Casavir, who stood behind Isaviel, and then over at Cormick with an incredulous expression, "As for a Blacklake pass, that will come...once you have dealt with a new threat to Neverwinter. One brought upon us by you, so Cormick tells me."
"What?!" Isaviel exclaimed, looking over at the former Harbourman accusingly.
"I will leave him to brief you. Good day," Brelaina seemed to be smirking that little bit too much, her tone far too satisfied, as she strolled out of the brightly lit office.
"I am afraid it is true, Isaviel," Cormick admitted, "I have been informed of your issues with the shards by Daeghun via Tarmas while you have been away. I was once a travelling companion with your father, your uncle and Sand, as well as Tarmas, and when Daeghun learned that I was not just an officer high in the Watch but also coordinating your role here actively, he sanctioned telling me. As such, I know that not everything of your intentions need be known to Brelaina, and certainly not the men, but I had to tell her something when we got word of a group of Githyanki assassins holed up near Neverwinter."
"Oh gods," Isaviel felt so weary in that moment, and so very out of place in the company only of rigid Cormick and duty-bound Casavir.
"This is very serious, Isaviel," Cormick told her sternly, "I have given you advance warning – as it was the Cloaktower that alerted us to the threat. I didn't tell them why you were involved, but if you don't fix it soon they will want to know more. I have given Sand the details and he can inform you better than I in matters involving magic."
"Fine," the Moon Elf sighed, "I will go at first light."
"Thank you Isaviel – and good luck," Cormick offered, but she was already leaving the room.
Casavir caught up with her just outside the door, putting a gentle hand on her arm. When she span around, pulling herself from him sharply, her angry look was quelled by the calmness in his blue eyes.
"My lady…Isaviel. I have heard much of your plight now and I would very much like to help in any way I can. Although we do not always agree on…methods, or on honour, I believe you are worth fighting for. Please, let me help you and for as long as it is in my power you will have me to fight at your side."
"I…ah…alright…" Isaviel blushed to hear herself stumbling so for words, eventually straightening up and regaining composure, heading for the exit at a brisk pace with the paladin in tow, "You've proven yourself to be a valuable fighter, I'll welcome you for that. Although if you're needing a place to stay, I'm not sure what you'll think of The Sunken Flagon."
"It may surprise you to learn that I have been there before – many years ago, before I took the vows of course," he added swiftly, and when Isaviel laughed at his embarrassed tone, he laughed too.
"You have come to me in haste, I see," Sand noted drily as he personally opened the door for Duncan's young charge.
"I could not stand another moment of their arguments – Duncan and Sal are bickering over my decision to test out Qara's worth fighting in my…group. Casavir, the new paladin amongst us, and Bishop are sending each other foul glares across the tavern floor. Neeshka and Khelgar are trading insults like lovers trade kisses. I refuse to take it a moment longer, not when I have another fight to face tomorrow," Isaviel admitted in a rush, her eyes wide and honest, her shoulders slumped from weariness.
Not for the first, or the last time, he was struck by her beauty, her youth…and her absolute lack of resemblance towards Daeghun. She joked where he would become angry, and raged where he would simply shrug. Yet it all seemed very superficial. When she thought no one was looking, he saw her frightened look, the way the memories of death and fire gnawed at her. And now she stood before him, her hair dripping wet from a very recent bath, bound carelessly behind her head, leaving thin trails of water along the shoulders of her embroidered white tunic. It was a man's tunic, slit at the hips, he noted, and she wore her belt of daggers and kukris, with the two pouches for the shards. Her black cloth leggings were laced closely up the sides in the fashion of the female soldiers, and she kept those old West Harbour boots.
"Your cloak was your mother's you know," he told her as he stepped aside to let her in, closing the door behind her and hardly giving the golem it revealed a second glance.
"It was?" she asked, startled, stopping halfway to unclasping that very garment.
"Indeed. An heirloom of Myth Drannor's type, no less," Sand smiled, reaching out a hand to take it, and after a moment she let him do so, "You see this stitching? It is faded now, but this embroidery is cut out and reused over the centuries. So although the cloak is barely fifty years old, this silver pattern is closer to a thousand."
"How can that be?" the Moon Elf demanded, a small frown appearing on her face. Ah, doubt. He liked that in her.
"Enchantment. And unbeatable creative technique. The Moon Elves of Myth Drannor were powerful, prideful and insular. But they were creative, too, and their loss means the loss of some beautiful things. Such simple stitching is an example of their ghost."
"Can the enchantment do anything?" she asked as they took their usual seats at his working desk behind the stairs and he poured her a cup of wine.
"I do not know, alas. Esmerelle would have, but she never told me. You are lucky that Daeghun's house escaped the worst of both conflicts which it has stood witness to."
"You also knew my mother? Why does Daeghun tell me nothing?" Isaviel asked, angry at the world in general.
"Really," Sand raised an eyebrow at that, half-amused, "I could claim to have a bone to pick with him about that. She was my elder brother's wife for many a year. Two centuries, in fact…"
"You are a half elf?" the Moon Elf asked with incredulity, and Sand had to laugh.
"Of course. Had you not wondered how I knew Tarmas in our shared youth when I appear so very much younger than he? Anyway, they parted ways perhaps three decades after my birth, when I was only a little older – in years, if not lifespan – than you are now. But they remained friends and I came to know her well. Her adventures were many and far ranging and she was gone for much of the year, but always stopped over…at our home on the way to visit Shayla near West Harbour as she did every winter. When I had been training as a wizard long enough to acquire some skill at the craft, she was willing to let me travel with her, to visit Shayla and her new lover, Daeghun. He was a much more emotionally open man back then, and we all became close friends, along with my friend from youth, Tarmas, and Daeghun's Harbourman friend Cormick. At that time we were young and foolish and wanted adventure, and ah, the fun we did have. For ten years it lasted, and then the Battle of West Harbour came, where the King of Shadows waged war against all of the Sword Coast," he paused for a long time then, his thoughts lost in memories of the past, spinning his wine cup around and around in his hands.
"Daeghun never told me anything," Isaviel all but whispered the words, "I know nothing of my mother." Her eyes were dry, but they might as well have been swimming with tears.
"I can tell you little. But that she was almost as beautiful as you, not quite so…wilful. And she never said a word of your father. I never knew her when she was pregnant, and you were still an infant I heard of only from Tarmas before the Battle came. She was the last of us to settle down, and loved adventure the best of all of us. She was far older than Daeghun, and had a lot of history behind her that we never learned. Shayla would have known. But…alas."
"Thank you for telling me, Sand," Isaviel managed a smile, and he saw that the honesty did not come easy to her.
"One more thing before we speak of what you must do tomorrow. I had word from Daeghun."
"And why should that matter to me?" the Moon Elf demanded, visibly bristling at such a mention of her foster-father.
"You will want to know this, though you may not admit it openly," Sand said gently, not pausing to give her a chance to respond, "He told me that West Harbour has been under construction since you left, and there has been no sign of attack. Even the mists over the town have receded, and people have begun to return properly to salvage what they can of the harvest," on impulse he reached out across the table and put a hand over hers, but when she looked up at him from her cup, her eyes gave nothing away, "There is hope yet."
The silence stretched, and eventually he broke it by giving her all of the details she would require to help her as best as was possible in overcoming the camped Giths. There were some twenty of them, but if Isaviel utilised all of those available to her – Casavir, Khelgar, Bishop along with his wolf, Elanee, Neeshka and even Qara, he knew they had a chance. She looked confident when he had finished explaining the details to her, and he had faith in her that grew even more once she related her plan of action to him.
Evening had long crept in to cover the docks when Isaviel was refastening her cloak and making a move to leave, her hair hanging loose about her waist by now, almost dry. She paused when the golem opened the door for her, and turned back to look at the wizard thoughtfully, for all the world looking just like Esmerelle.
"Do you know anything about a man called 'Black Garius'? I've heard mention of him recently, something about a 'Fifth Tower' and Luskan."
"I am sorry to say that I do not know much. If I am right he broke away from the four-spired Hosttower of the Arcane, but I have no knowledge of a fifth tower. There have always been four in Luskan – those of the four ruling wizards. A dreadful bunch, if you ask me. The men of one's nightmares. Liches and would-be demi-liches all if you ask anyone who knows anything about Luskan magic, too," Sand added, "But I will look into the issue for you, where I can. For now, think on the sleep you will get. There is nothing better than a bed after weeks away from proper sleep."
"And where have you been all this time? The druid has been pacing most ardently in her wait for your return," Bishop's voice mocked Isaviel as she slipped through the back door of The Sunken Flagon, hoping to go straight to her room. His arm barred her path in the dark corridor.
"I don't care what the druid wants. Elanee did not expect to be back from her divergence to Skymirror so soon. She can wait another night," Isaviel told him archly.
The Moon Elf was not at all surprised when he stopped her attempt to dodge around him by putting his other hand against the wall, his body close to hers. She smirked up at him, not at all afraid, though his dark eyes were blazing in the dim light. It seemed more important that he was close and warm, both of them free of the sweat and blood of the road. His armour was elsewhere, and he was dressed less threateningly in a simple tunic and trousers. Even his daggers were not visible, if he had them with him.
She noticed that he smelled of wine as she leaned closer in the small gap he gave her, reaching up to the neckline of his shirt to touch the beginnings of those strange scars that started at the base of his neck and continued over his left shoulder. He just watched the path of her fingers as she pushed the cloth away from his skin a little to better see the extent of the old wounds. Burns, clearly, leading to a great scar covering the entirety of the curve of that shoulder.
"And where did you get these?" she asked softly, running her hands over the scars as he caught her a little roughly by the waist, pulling her to him hard and suddenly he was very close.
"The day that I burned," he growled into her hair, then began to tip her head back, as if he meant to kiss her…
"There ye are, lass," Khelgar's voice called rather loudly from the far right end of the corridor, where it turned left and ended at the accommodation area's door to the tavern, "Elanee is waiting for ye. Might be she has something worth hearing for a change."
Laughing at Bishop's frustrated growl, Isaviel pushed against his chest and stepped free. She watched him mockingly over her shoulder as he glared at her, too, and then turned up the narrow stairway – indented into the wall against which he had pressed her – to his solitary attic room. When the Moon Elf looked back at Khelgar he gave nothing away in his expression, but his lack of kind words was enough for her. Of course he did not approve – and she just did not care.
She followed Khelgar wordlessly into the tavern area, where Elanee was pacing anxiously in the newly emptied establishment. Neeshka was standing by the fire, staring into the flames and holding a flagon of ale, apparently preferring The Sunken Flagon for the time being while the Thieves' Guild got up and running properly, Karnwyr asleep by her feet. Duncan was talking with Casavir at one of the tables, their voices hushed, their expressions serious. Isaviel could not begin to comprehend how they had to ended up that way, having never met officially before that afternoon. Qara was pretending to clean the bar, but really was now gawping at Isaviel, clearly not quite sure what to feel about the offer extended towards her, suggesting she fight for them rather than wait on them.
"Ah, there you are!" Elanee gasped, rushing over to the Moon Elf as soon as Isaviel entered the room. The young woman's eyes were distraught, her form slumped within her brown robes as she stood there, "I have ill news. I have spoken with Elder Naevan, of the Circle of the Mere, through the Skymirror as I promised, and he has told me of a great darkness, a polluting presence growing in the Mere. He says that the Circle…it is lost. He suggests that the King of Shadows, or his like, may be upon us."
This disturbing news, although not fully comprehended by most of the group, cast its own shadow, returning Isaviel's mood to its earlier weary resignation. Was this all there was to say? The words were brief, but the meaning was weighty enough. Still, she was glad that it silenced any questions about why she had stayed at Sand's for so long – the truth being that she had been all but openly avoiding them. From the looks of things, Casavir had already filled them in about the assassins hiding outside Neverwinter, and Isaviel determined to tell them her plans in the morning. It was already troublesome enough that those around her knew that such times as these called for a hero…and they expected to find that hero in her.
Sitting well away from the murmurs of the others, at a table by the far right-hand window, Isaviel sighed and rested her elbows on the sill. Down the narrow, lamp-lit, dirt-ridden streets meandered those tired, life-weary dockworkers, or their wives, sometimes even children at this late hour. Not all had homes – not all of them had a hope of food or gold any time soon. Mangy dogs, starving, searched the side alleys for scraps of food or maybe a place to sleep – or die. The Moon Elf could just about see a stretch of the harbour water from her vantage point, glittering silver in the moonlight. She looked past moored boats swaying slowly there, deeper out into the west, where the Sea of Swords truly frothed and roared and raged.
I could still be out in the marshes if it weren't for these wretched shards. Just her and the moonlight and the night-time hunt. She had not realised how much she missed West Harbour's lands, if not her life there, until she had seen it destroyed and realised she could not return, not while the strange shadows loomed there and she carried the shards.
"…and then there are the assassins," Neeshka was explaining to Qara, and that stirred Isaviel from her reverie. It looked like the fiery sorceress was willing to join them after all.
"Right," the Moon Elf said, standing with determination and setting her expression, "Let's deal with the assassins first and then go to Aldanon in the Blacklake for more answers. For now though, I think we have deserved some sleep, don't you?"
The assassins, of course, had been a surprisingly large force of Githyanki, making their lair in the cellars of an abandoned warehouse just outside the city. Bishop had been absent from The Sunken Flagon that morning, Karnwyr as well and although Duncan did not seem surprised, he only shrugged and gave no explanation.
The fighting had been difficult, but Elanee's restrained magics and Qara's awesomely destructive powers, combined with careful stealth from Neeshka and Isaviel had won the day. Somehow they had avoided any major injuries, even from the headlong charges of Khelgar and Casavir. When the more law abiding members of the group had left, rather pointedly turning a blind eye to Neeshka, Isaviel and Qara's suspect choice to stay, the Moon Elf had suggested to the sorcerer that she set the ancient warehouse alight. The look the young woman had given her once they had all been staring up in awe at the flames it created was one that made Isaviel realise that she might have been forgiven for her earlier aggression. It made her feel a little more at ease – Qara's powers were vast, and she would rather have them used by one at her side than someone trying to get revenge.
Once they had reported into Brelaina to tell her of yet another accomplished quest, she had finally given Isaviel a permit to the Blacklake District, if only under ranking Watch supervision and a quick escort to the vast, sweeping mansion owned by Aldanon on the western edge of the area. In Isaviel's opinion it had not been quick enough – none of them had thought to change from their earlier skirmish, so determined to get answers, and only Qara looked presentable. The finely dressed inhabitants of the area were prone to stopping and staring at the spectacle of the battle-befouled adventurers being escorted through their home district, and none of those looks were friendly ones.
Neeshka had been quick to point out the enormous castle looming high on a steep-sided hill beyond, surrounded by vast grey stone walls.
"That's the home of Lord Nasher Alagondar, the leader of this city," she was telling Elanee, who still looked confused, "There must be so much treasure held in there…and of course, that marble palace beside it is the Academy."
"I certainly don't miss that place," Qara had scoffed, but she could not keep her eyes off its wondrous decorations all the same.
The rich blue curtains were all closed tightly shut over the grand arched windows of Aldanon's manse. The garden, surprisingly small at the front of the building, was wild and untended, lichen growing out of the eyes of the two stone statues hewn out of the wall to loom under a deep porch to either side of a vast wooden doorway. At the centre of this portal hung a golden ring with a large claw-shaped knocker on its lower curve.
As she stood there, waiting for an answer to her rather unexpectedly heavy-handed knock, Isaviel could only feel increasingly out of place. Here the streets were broader, kept carefully clean, and every building was thrice the size of her home in West Harbour. Neeshka was certainly feeling it, too, looking rather suspect either when wrapped in her dark cloak or otherwise to reveal her travelling leathers beneath. Elanee's brown robes and branch-adorned hair were gaining her points and laughs – and to her credit she dealt with such responses with admirable calm. Khelgar seemed unfazed, while Casavir's armour was at least expensive enough to fit in with the area, and Qara's blue dress meant she did not get even a second glance from any of the Blacklake inhabitants.
Isaviel was jolted from her thoughts when an oddly friendly voice, that of an old man, tinged with the precise tones of nobility, sounded from behind the thick door.
"You are here with the quicksilver I need for my shard experiment, are you not?" he asked hopefully.
"Shard? Sounds familiar," Khelgar grunted quietly to Neeshka just behind the Moon Elf.
"I am…afraid not," Isaviel called, a little taken aback, "But I do have some shards that you might be interested in."
"Really? How wonderful!" the voice cried, "You know, I do have plenty quicksilver, it's just that one can never have too much. You never know when a shard might just turn up at your door," several loud thuds followed, "There. I think I've removed all the wards."
The door swung open, revealing a somewhat dishevelled, white haired, upright old man. Despite his slightly dazed countenance his pale eyes were bright, and beyond him even the hallway was dominated by cabinets and bookshelves overflowing with glass jars of alchemical oddities and vast, dog-eared tomes. The walls and ceiling were bare, but the floor was tiled with an elaborate mosaic, apparently depicting some scenes throughout Faerûn's history.
"Thank you," Casavir smiled, the only member of the group to show such a courtesy as they all trooped inside the corridor, a bluish haze created by the closed curtains once the door was shut as well.
"Well met to you all," the man was telling them absently as he relocked all of the bolts and chains holding the door shut, eventually turning to smile brilliantly, "Sit all of you please," he gestured to the two soft couches opposite each other against the corridor walls, the ones least covered in books.
"So," the old man continued, smoothing down his blue wool tunic, which had some tell-tale singe-marks around the broad sleeves, "You have another shard? Another two, perhaps? Yes? Absolutely fascinating…and quite mysterious, too, of course, but that goes without saying, doesn't it?" he waved away a confused-looking servant through the only open door at the far end of the hall, revealing a vast library beyond overflowing with scrolls and half-spilled inkwells, as well as still more tomes.
"We…" Isaviel began, but the man did not seem to hear her.
"I am Aldanon of course. You did come to see me, did you not? Yes. Good, good. You must forgive me for my greeting. Normally I am rather…reclusive, what with a murderer on the loose. Heard the third lord was killed just last night – fat lot of good that lockdown on the Blacklake has done us, then. And what with all of these young nobles sneaking around my house at night, I've had to place wards around the entire area, and it's not that easy for me to leave anymore."
"Young nobles?" Isaviel asked sceptically, thinking of the morning's fight with the Giths. If he has a shard…
But Aldanon was nodding emphatically.
"Well of course. I've seen them sneaking around in the dark. They obviously want my house. But they know I would never sell it. I'd rather give up my left eye, although my right does annoy me at times so that would be an easier sell," he sighed nostalgically, "When I first settled here this humble abode was on the outskirts of Neverwinter, bordering acres of untouched wilderness. But thanks to rebuilding following all that plague nonsense my home might as well be on the main thoroughfare of the city! And all nobles want to live here, so it makes sense that they would try to take my home."
"Are you sure they are nobles, Lord Aldanon?" Casavir asked concernedly, and the scholar blinked at him incredulously.
"Certainly. Who else would be sneaking around my home, present company excluded? Ah yes, that's right, you came here for a reason."
Nodding uncomfortably, Isaviel began to explain her recovery of the two shards currently in her possession, and of the strange events leading up to that point. Throughout Aldanon listened carefully, an expression of increasing amazement evident on his face.
"Great Tyr!" he exclaimed when she had finished, seating himself stiffly on the opposite couch, "You have certainly come to the right person, young lady. You see, I also acquired a shard, some time ago. My numerous tests had, very disappointingly, unsuccessful outcomes. But with others to compare it with, I may be able to gain some results."
"Here, then," Isaviel removed the two shards she carried from her belt pouches and handed them to him, "But I want these back. And where did you find your shard?"
"Well," Aldanon paused, frowning, eyes drifting off into the mid distance, "I am sure it would make for a fascinating tale…but I just do not remember, I am afraid."
"Think back," Casavir urged him gently, "There must be something you can tell us."
"Hmm…someone must have given it to me. Ah, I remember a well-dressed man, perhaps nobility – though I would never ask such a personal question – who gave the shard to me. He asked me to study it and to report my findings, but never returned. Fortunate, since I had no answers for him. And I never did catch his name. Irrelevant I suppose," he smiled then, looking back at Isaviel, "Thank you – I will be back soon," and he vanished through a side door.
"Gods. Talking to him is almost as bad as suffering a lesson at the Academy," Qara groaned.
"He is a renowned scholar, long in the service of Neverwinter. He deserves your respect, not your derision," Casavir scolded, but the sorceress just sniffed disdainfully, looking away from the paladin, who was the only one of the group choosing to remain standing.
"More importantly," Khelgar put in, "He's only tryin' to help Isaviel. If ye didn't want to learn somethin' ye should 'a stayed at the Flagon."
"I agree," Elanee nodded, looking as uncomfortable in the opulence of the mansion as Isaviel felt, "He is wise and we would do well to listen to him."
A thoughtful and certainly hopeful silence fell on the group. They had been waiting for some time before Aldanon stepped through a door – a different one from that which he had vanished through earlier. His hair was even more wild than before, his eyes wide with wonder. He quickly handed the shard back to Isaviel, holding a third silvery piece as he paced back and forth in front of them, stopping from time to time only to repeat the process, deep in thought. He spoke with as much rapid urgency as his meandering mind would allow.
"Well," Aldanon began, "With another set of shards as a comparison I have learned quite a lot actually. The magic they retain could come from a strong enchantment when they were whole – or from the method of destruction which brought them to their present…disparate appearance. I suspect it is from both, however. Furthermore, they resonate when brought together, increasing their magic output drastically. They are, in fact, pieces of a broken Githyanki Silver Sword. Are you familiar with the Githyanki?"
"Only in killing them," Isaviel shrugged, confused, "What is a Githyanki Silver Sword?"
"What our leader means to say is that we would be honoured if you would tell us more," Casavir put in, and earned a frustrated scowl from Isaviel. Aldanon, however, seemed hardly to notice the paladin, already formulating his answer.
"The Githyanki are a race of beings which dwell in the Astral Plane, under the leadership of the Lich Queen, Vlaakith – not a nice lady, I hear."
"Are liches ever nice?" Neeshka mumbled, but the scholar remained oblivious.
"Ages ago their ancestors were human, inhabiting another place of existence entirely where they were enslaved by the Illithids, more commonly known as the Mindflayers. Then came Gith, who led her people in rebellion against the Elder Brain and its Illithid servants. Gith is considered a hero of her people, and the founder of the Githyanki, allowing them to found their home in the…somewhat changeable realm of Limbo in the Astral Plane.
"As for the Silver Swords, they are forged with the special purpose of severing the chords that hold Astral travellers to their solid counterparts, killing them instantly. It is said they appear as an ordinary Githyanki weapon until used in combat, where the Silver Swords become a column of flowing, shimmering liquid. Really quite amazing, I imagine. Considering all this, then if the shards really are pieces of a Silver Sword, this explains why the Githyanki have come to Faerûn – to collect them. I am confident that you are not the only one who they know of in possession of shards, but whatever you do – do not try to just hand them back. You are branded a villain in their eyes eternally now. Better to keep that which you have."
"But what's so important about a Silver Sword to the Githyanki? They must have hundreds left," Neeshka pointed out.
"Yes, but I suspect they are probably as interested in learning why it broke as they are in retrieving it. After all, I have never heard of one being broken before, although theft of them is not so rare."
"Is there anything more you can tell us beyond past events?" Elanee queried softly.
"I'm afraid not," Aldanon sighed, "Ammon Jerro, court wizard of Neverwinter some years ago, would be the one to ask. He was the real expert, and actually owned a Silver Sword, I believe."
"Alright, where can we find him then?" Isaviel demanded, her patience fast running out.
"Well finding him would do you little good. He's dead now, his family moved far away after the war with the King of Shadows at West Harbour. It was all a very quiet affair, his death. Apparently what his family wanted, but I think it is a sad day when a humble, little-known scholar deserves no more than a footnote in history. Makes me wonder if anyone will remember me when I am gone," Aldanon added forlornly.
"I am sure…" Casavir began, but Isaviel interrupted sharply.
"We haven't the time, Casavir."
"Well, didn't he have any records of his knowledge? Isn't that what you scholars do, write down stuff that you know?" Neeshka suggested.
"Well, of course, there is too much to remember. We have not the memories of the druids, you know," Aldanon smiled vaguely at Elanee before catching on, "Actually there is Ammon Jerro's Haven. I have no idea where it is but you could find information on its location in the secure vault of the city Archives just down the road. Normally it would take weeks to gain access, but ask to speak directly with Archives Administrator Cotenick. He has been known to let me in quietly on occasion and is an old friend. If you, er, tell him that 'Aldanon comments on the resplendence of Beshaba's bathing tub' he will know you are there on a matter of great urgency."
Filled with hope now, Isaviel stood quickly, soon followed by her friends in thanking Aldanon warmly for his – finally productive – information before heading for the door.
"So how do you intend to persuade our minders to take us to the Archives?" Khelgar asked doubtfully before they left.
Isaviel grinned confidently, winking at Neeshka who laughed in understanding even before the Moon Elf explained.
"Charming the Watch shouldn't be too hard. Up for it, Qara?"
"Well," the sorceress looked momentarily flattered, "It won't be as fun as watching them go up in flames, but sure, making fools out of a couple of weak-minded men is the next best thing. Let's do it," she glanced at the others imperiously stepping up beside Isaviel, "The rest of you follow behind."
"Wait, before you go," Aldanon tapped the Moon Elf on the shoulder, holding out the third shard, "Take my shard, I'm sure you can defend it better than I and who knows, you may find more."
He seemed dazzled by Isaviel's resulting brilliant smile. Finally understanding her plan for the Watch, Khelgar snorted a laugh and Casavir looked distinctly sickened.
Upon their arrival at the Archives it had been strangely quiet and empty within the main building. None of the guards had seemed present, all the doors forced open. Then they had found all of the guards dead in the next room, among several slain Githyanki. Within the secure Archives they had found little more than a chaotic mess of scattered books and torn sheets. There were no more Githyanki, just a large tome on a central pedestal left open under the heading of Ammon Jerro. Though half of the page had been torn away, the remaining information was just as important.
"Looks like Ammon Jerro does have some family we can trace, after all. Shandra Jerro, who has a farm halfway to Highcliff."
"If the Githyanki are after her, we need to get savin' her!" Khelgar cried.
"I can feel the energy left behind by a portal, the way the Giths left. I think I have enough power to reopen it and get us through, too. They haven't been gone long," Qara explained.
"So we shall have a hope of saving Shandra. Come, we must hurry!" Casavir cried dramatically once the portal had been reopened.
Isaviel rolled her eyes, but as one they hurried forth.