The Journal of Jaelle Thornwood (Part II)

[Carillon]

I was a fool to think Laura wasn't watching me, just because I knew she was in the Brech Mountains. I should have guessed after her suspicion during our last meeting that she would find a way to have me watched.

It happened in the Hall of the Weave. Brian and I were talking in whispers while we both pretended to be busy mixing inks. We were talking about ... well, that's the problem. I know we were arguing about Laura and the urn, but I don't remember exactly what was said.

And then I felt someone tap my shoulder, and almost fell over. Brian, small blessings, left without quarrel when I asked him to. I thought it would be Laura, but the voice that whispered into my ear was male. Watch the shadows ... it said. Or something very near to that. I was so surprised I did not wholly register what was happening until after the note had been pressed into my hand and he was gone.

I glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then quickly unfurled the note and read it before tucking it away again. This is what I read:



Dearest Jaelle,

I have considered with great anxiety what we have spoken of a few days past.

I intend to cease my vengeance against the council. I have more pressing matters with the dwarves of Ulgrid's.

Please take care of yourself and do not give your heart lightly. May what wisdom I imparted upon you guide your actions.

I never lied to you.

My love,
Laura Evvanicc'ia



I do not know what to think about this. On the one hand, I am relieved Laura has ceased her quest for vengeance against the Council of Hope. It means, I think, that I have more time yet again. More time to find the urn, or another solution.

And yet ... she is out there, killing dwarves in the mountains. It is a standoff now, I hear. And there is her tone too, so affectionate and almost trusting. But love? Does Laura truly love anyone anymore?

Strangest still is the sadness I get at the thought of not seeing her again. She has been a thorn in my side, and a dangerous and confusing enemy. And yet I find myself sometimes drawn to her as surely as an object thrown in the air is drawn back down to the ground. I am simultaneously relieved she is gone and disappointed I won't see her for some time, if ever again. What if she dies up there in the mountains, struck down by some dim-witted dwarf, half-mad with battle rage? I think a part of me would miss her, and I would certainly wonder what she might have become, or might have taught me.

A reply arrived from Connor, though, which gives me hope. Perhaps sensing my urgency, his note was uncharacteristically brief and to the point:


Jaelle,

City of Spells. As soon as you can make it.

Connor


I am leaving immediately. I pray to any god or goddess that will listen that Connor will be able to shed some much needed light on my situation. I trust his guidance, as he has never led me astray. I pray too that Laura doesn't find out.

[Carillon]

The meeting went well, I think. We met in secret behind the School of Magic, on the high cliffs that stretch out over the sea. It is one of my favourite places in all of Spellgard, and I have spent many hours on those benches watching the ocean before, between and after lessons with Elmater and Aryell. Connor was as good as his word, and right on time. The only thing I did not expect was Anna to be with him.

I can't help but wonder, are they lovers? They must be, for she is always at his side. And yet I've never seen them touch. I think they are both very private people. I admit, I was dismayed when he told me she was with him. He had the good sense not to bring her into the meeting straight off. He came alone first, and asked me if I were willing. I asked if I had a choice, and if he would simply tell her anyway.  In the end I allowed it, not because I trust AnnaLee, but because I trust Connor and he clearly trusts her. It was strange though. She is so silent and watchful, and sometimes it feels like she's not even looking at you, but through you, or past you. It is very disconcerting.

The uncomfortable tension of having Anna there and the sense of foreboding that always seems to surround my dealings with Laura aside, the meeting went well. It was like a dance in some ways, giving and sharing information, bartering one truth for another or a secret for their aid in finding the answers to her condition. I heard myself asking their help, and could scarce believe it, even now. They gave it, albeit perhaps grudgingly. Connor mistrusts her motives, I know, and perhaps AnnaLee does too. I cannot say I am free of the same suspicion, but I would give her the freedom to choose her own fate nonetheless, and being free of the taint of her vampirism is a choice she should be offered. I sincerely hope they will find a cure.

A cure--it is still strange to think about it in those terms. And yet that's what Connor called it. He referred to vampirism as if it were a kind of disease. I wonder how many others think about it thus. Is Laura just a woman who became sick through no fault of her own, and might be restored to full health again? Or did the woman she was cease to be when Veira bit and turned her? I am not sure we will ever know, but perhaps there is a chance now. I must say also, it surprised me to learn Connor and Anna already suspected much of her condition. They are not like the others. They are far smarter, for one, and far less rash in their actions. Their heads are cool and their minds are sharp, and they listened when I asked them to judge her not on what she was, but on what she is and might become again. Most importantly, they may be the only other two people in the world who do not want to kill her outright, and for that I am grateful.

And oh, I was right to think my Mistress mistrusting! Trust ... such a strange commodity. So hard to earn, and so very easy to lose. Connor and Anna have a measure of mine, Connor through our past dealings and AnnaLee by proxy. I am not sure how much  I have of Laura's. Eventually and with some reluctance, I showed Connor and AnnaLee the letter she wrote me. Blood! She mixed the ink with blood ... her blood! Anna was the one that noticed first, so perhaps Connor was right to bring her after all. Connor confirmed it after checking it over again: the letter can be used to scry on me.

It makes me uneasy, knowing she can watch me. My first impulse was to burn the letter. And yet ... and yet what good would that do? If her faith in me wavers, I must give her no further reason to doubt. Which means for now, I cannot let her know that I know. Connor does not think it was active during the meeting, so there is still a good chance I can conceal this from her.

While I ponder what to do, I will be on Dregar. Laura is still in the Brechs carrying out her siege, and I think I am needed there far more than I am here. After the meeting with Connor and Anna, I went to look through the Spellgard records for the School of Magic. It was something Connor said that made me think of it. He said that Laura seemed to have an almost pathological fear of Spellgard, and would never show her face there. It was one of the reasons he chose the city for a meeting place. I knew she must have studied somewhere. I think she taps the Al'Noth through the mind and not as I do, which means lessons and tutors for certain. And now that I have her true surname from the letter, I can search the records, and search I did. And I found it! Her name, as real as the parchment it was scribed on or the ink it was written in. An old record, though there was no date on it that I saw. It roughly matches my expectations and what she has told me though. If she was truly my age when she was bitten, it can't have been very long after she was a student, which means she was a vampire for several centuries at least, judging from the age of the document. So much time and suffering ... even I have trouble imagining her loneliness during that time.

I had thought to dig deeper into the archives, but just then word spread like wildfire through the city. A runner had come from North Point through the portal: war had broken out in the Boyer kingdom. The giants of the Thunder Peaks were threatening Dalanthar, and Essrantor was trying to expand his realm, and a group of warriors and heroes had disappeared into the Peaks. That was all I could confirm, but enough to make me pack my things with alacrity and move for the portal. In an instant I was in North Point. After warm Spellgard, it was like jumping into frigid water. Luckily I keep a set of heavy robes and a warm cloak in a bank vault in that city for just such occasions, as well as an emergency pack full of supplies and rations.

I write this from the edge of the Rift, camped for the night. I am heading south, towards Dalanthar and the Thunder Peaks, but I do not know what I will find when I arrive. I think of the times I have sat at the Crossroads and watched the so-called heroes of the lands journey up into those bitterly cold mountains, and I at least have to try. If not for friendship, at least for knowledge. I lived in ignorance of the rest of the world all my life, and I shall do so no longer. If there are events in the world that shall prove to have a hand in its shaping, I wish to be a part of them. In a way, I was reborn when I left the swamps. That life was one of silence. In this life, I have a voice. Perhaps we are always being reborn, through each new experience we overcome. Perhaps when we change, the old self dies and is cast off, like brittle snakeskin or the worn out husk of a crab grown beyond its former life.

The winds are cold and the candle burns low. I must sleep, so I will have strength for my journey on the morrow. And yet my mind keeps returning to a single thought: if it is this cold here, how much colder must it be up in the mountains? I wonder if Hardragh is up there somewhere, or Arkolio or Brian. There is but a single way to find out.

[Carillon]

Has it been so short a time since I spoke of having a voice, and playing my part in those events that will shape the world? I did not realize how prophetic my words would be. I have been up the Thunder Peaks and back twice since I last found the time to sit and put quill to parchment. Now I sit at the Crossroads and think on recent events, especially those of the last week.

I arrived in Dalanthar safely, and immediately met up with a large group of warriors, mages, healers and adventurers. Like me, they had heard tell of war in the Boyer kingdom and had come to have a hand in the shaping of the outcome. There were many I knew among the group: Berak and Abi, Brian, Marcus, a Lucindite healer by the name of Sala, a few mages I had met before ... all of them, without exception, more accomplished warriors than me. They had another advantage, as well, having been closer to the Boyer kingdom when war was announced, and almost all had arrived before me. At first, I was lost and confused, but then I remembered to keep my wits about me. When in doubt, keep your ears open and your mouth shut. I went with them to speak to a Sir Evan, who seemed to be coordinating a resistance of sorts. As I understood it, the burden that fell upon my compatriots was to hold the pass and keep Dalanthar from falling, and also to provide aid and support to a separate expedition that had ventured high into the mountains to deal with Essrantor more directly.

It was not long before my careful listening brought reward, for when Sir Evan and his advisors were discussing strategy and possible sources of aid with my companions, I caught Sir Evan's chief advisor, a man named Everett, in a lie. They were discussing a half-dragon half-wyvern crossbreed who dwelt in the Thunder Peaks, and something about the spirit of a silver dragon. A few argued that we should seek him out, as he might be a powerful ally, but Sir Evan's advisor Everett argued most fervently against it. At first, he gave no adequate reason, saying only it would be a waste of time. When pressed, it came out the ice wyvern, who is known as Iliarn, was a recluse. Everett said he could not be found, as his location was unknown, and that we would be leaving the pass defenseless. However, I caught the telltale of a lie in the tone of his voice, and in the way he held his head as he spoke. It was most apparent to me he was playing us false, and I wanted to know why. So I spoke softly, but pitched my voice to carry, and asked him why he sought to deceive us.

Well, that got a reaction at least! Everett was defensive and reluctant, but after I pointed out his lie, there was no way he could hide the fact that he knew more than he was saying. It soon came out that the reclusive creature was known to inhabit the Frigid Ruins of the Thunder Peaks. Everett was greatly set against our going, but Sir Evan agreed that he was too powerful an ally not to try and secure. The others filed out one by one but Everett called me back. Of course Brian and Marcus wanted to stay and defend me, but I shooed them off. Sometimes it's useful, their intense chivalry. Other times it is merely irritating to always be treated like a defenseless child. All Everett wanted to do was scold me, though, and try to intimidate me into holding my tongue next time. Good luck with that.

Just as I was about to rush off to catch the others, Sir Evan's guard, a woman named Callie, came rushing after me. She was quite young and rather pretty, though I wouldn't call her beautiful. She had a look of competence about her though, and it was my guess she was well seasoned with battles. She told me not to be cowed by Everett, and I assured her I was not. She questioned his alliance too, suggesting he served himself before they Boyer kingdom. An interesting tidbit, which I stored away for future use. Most importantly, though, she gave us directions. Or rather, gave me directions: over the lake, and straight up the mountain past the yetis to the ridge ... but when you get to the cliffside, veer right and stay close to the cliff, and that is where you will reach the Frigid Ruins.

After taking note of her instructions, I hurried to catch the others who were waiting for me. We found a number of small boats moored by the shores of the lake, and made our way across the Warrior's Lake. It was strange for me, sitting there in the boat. The waters were very still and cold, and as we crossed the mountain loomed up before us, a citadel of icy cliffs and spires. It was an imposing sight, and I couldn't tear my eyes from it as I strung my bow and checked my quiver. No magic here. Naked, in a way those who cannot touch the Al'Noth will never know.

I was afraid.

I went anyway. I did what I could to stay out of the fights. The yetis were nothing like those who inhabit the Brechs. These were massive creatures that loomed out of the veil of falling snow looking like they were made of snow themselves. They hurled boulders of rock and ice down at us as we shot at them. Their hides were so thick my arrows could barely pierce them, and once I was caught off balance by a well-aimed boulder and nearly thrown from the cliff side. I felt it crash into my thigh, and I swear by the gods I felt the bone in my leg shudder with the impact and nearly break. Although I couldn't see the skin under the layers of woolen garments and fur, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that purple bruises were already beginning to bloom on the flesh. Sala, our healer, bound it with a length of cloth and bid me be careful. There was no magic to heal us or bring us back up here should we fall.

We went on. We climbed, and it grew colder. The bitter winds cut through our cloaks and robes as if they were nothing, and they stirred up the snow and made it hard to see where we were going. Several times we had to turn back and find another route up when the path proved nothing more than an illusion. Our footprints disappeared even as we made them, leaving no sign of our passage besides the patches of crimson blood we left on the snow, and the occasional dead yeti. Finally, we reached the cliff Callie had spoken of, but I was trailing behind the others and they wouldn't listen to me. They kept climbing.

I held my position, and clung to the side of the mountain, and called to them, and waited. The wind cut right through me, as if the mountain itself was trying to drive me off it. It snatched at me with cold fingers and tried to pull me down. I looked down once, and the empty white nothingness below nearly made me lose my balance. After that I didn't look. I just clung, my fingers going numb and my vision blinded by the little shards of ice whipping all around me.

We lost a lot of time. I had to send two runners up the mountain to retrieve the stragglers, but finally they all came back. Much longer, and I think we would all have perished up there. We fought our way, step by perilous step, around the edge of the cliff. Sometimes we had to stop, and fight phantoms that seemed to be made of cold itself. Finally, we reached the ruins, and took shelter from the wind. For the first time since setting out, we could light a fire, and light them we did. We huddled by the fire and wrapped ourselves in extra cloaks and blankets. Not a soul among us didn't feel the cold, but I think I felt it worse than many. I was not born to this clime, and my body is ill suited to keeping me warm in the face of so much ice and cold death. Brian tried to warm me, rubbing the life back into my stiff limbs. It helped, a little, but I still felt like I would die with every step. I felt like there was no air in that place, and that each breath would be my last. It actually hurt to draw breath, as if I were drawing shards of ice into my lungs.

We went on. The ruins had a terrible beauty to them. More terrible still were the creatures of ice and cold that inhabited them. I thought I would die. I thought we would all die. Poor Marcus did at one point, and a few others, or very nearly. They were so still and cold we thought they were dead, but upon shattering the layers of ice that encased their bodies like crystal after the fights they drew breath again.

There was a pillar in one of the rooms, carved in strange runic letters. I vaguely recognized them as draconic, but could not even guess at their meaning. I traced the shapes with my fingers, and another mage took a rubbing. In another room, there were the remains of old furniture, bookcases and a few books. I reached out to touch one and it crumbled to dust at my touch. I wondered what this place had once been, and who had lived here on the side of the mountain.

A strangeness overcame some of us as we went through that place ... I do not know how to describe it, nor whether to attribute it to some strange warding magic or only the hopelessness of our situation. As we went deeper and deeper, certainty of death crept into many of our hearts. Brian was at my side. He carried me part of the way when I couldn't walk. Walk ... I could barely draw breath! The cold stole all the feeling from my body and left behind only numb terror. Thinking back upon it, I wonder if it had something to do with the pillar. At the time my mind was not clear enough to fathom it, but it seemed to take the ones who had been closest to the pillar or who had touched the pillar harder than those who had kept their distance.

Perhaps I was lucky, to feel the terror earlier than the others. I had time to adjust, it take my fear and shut it out, piece by piece. I feel apart and came out the other side, and by the time we reached the last door my resolve was strong again. But all around me the others were going to pieces. No point, they cried. We are going to die anyway. I looked upon them all, huddled around the fires, and they looked so lost. And then I turned and looked upon the last doors--great carved doors many times higher than a man is tall. And gods save me, danger or no, I wanted to know what was behind them. I wanted my suffering to have a meaning. I wanted. And in that moment of hopelessness, I think just wanting was enough.

Slowly, the few of us with any will rallied the others. I whispered to those worst off, coaxing them back from that numbness and trying to kindle a fire in their hearts again. It is easier with magic, but it can be done without. Silver-tongued, I have been called. Silver or fire, whatever worked, I roused them one by one. There were others at my side after we began, supporting me and helping hold me up. Together, finally, we braved the last door.

Recluse is an apt description for the drake. Iliarn wanted nothing to do with us, and we could not get near him. The ground shook the first time he appeared, and he exploded from the ice like a tree bursting forth from the soil in search of the sun. They tried, again and again, to approach him, and each time he would dive into the snow and ice and tunnel away, appearing somewhere else without warning. They begged and cajoled, but he would have none of it. I sat quietly on a high mound of snow and watched them chase the halfbreed. Foolish, to think you can bend a dragon to your will, even this pale shadow of one.

And yet ... and yet we needed his aid, and the spirit's aid. And so I waited for a moment, and finally that moment came. He spoke in the elven tongue. Where he learned it, I am not sure. It is an older tongue than the common one, and perhaps less irritating to a dragon kin's sensibilities. Or perhaps the inhabitants of the ruins were elves, once upon a time. Whatever the reason, I saw my opportunity and seized it, and replied to him in kind.

It was strange to have the mantle of diplomacy fall on me so unequivocally. There were others among us who spoke the elven tongue (Brian I taught myself, though he will still never speak it like one born to it) but I was the only true elf among our company. And so I stood before the halfbreed, and beseeched him for aid. I, Jaelle Thornwood, bargained with Iliarn the ice drake. It is something to remember, bargaining with one of the dragonkin.

It would be a lie to say I was not afraid. I challenge any to stand before a dragon or their lesser cousins and not feel even a quiver of fear. They are more than us. They are made to be intimidating, and Iliarn was that indeed. His tail thrashed, spewing ice and snow in a shower up behind him. His teeth looked like massive icicles, each of them capable of piercing my body and stopping my heart in an instant. He looked upon me with his great eyes and I felt very small. But as I have said, I had already gone through fear and come out the other side in some ways. It was still there, pumping through each vein like cold flame, but it became less important. I knew the others were behind me, and I was dimly aware of their presence. I half remember someone holding Brian back to give me space. But to be honest, my world dwindled until the only things in it were Iliarn and my own frail form standing before him, asking him for aid. To me, it felt like he and I were very much alone there among all the snow and ice.

We spoke in the elven tongue. I cannot remember what was said. The words came easily then, summoned by my own fear and need, but had you questioned me on our descent down the mountain on what precisely I had said, I could not have told you. I remember him questioning me on the Le'Tennodin, and on Essrantor Aldtorskel. I remember the sting of his breath, which was a hundred times worse than the bitterest wind the mountain had sent to drive us away. I closed my eyes against it the first time he breathed down on me, and ice formed on my eyelashes. I had to force my eyes open again. After that I kept them open, and dealt with the pain of the little crystal shards that wedged themselves under my lashes. I remember him testing me, roaring so loudly all I could do was stand there and shake. I told myself I was already dead, that my life was forfeit, and that all I could do was try and forge the bargain before he devoured me. It helped, a little.

The lesson, in part, was that one does not bargain with dragons. He agreed to aid us, but there was no haggling. He named his price, and it was one that surprised us all. He asked for a soulstone each from Everett and Callie, Sir Evan's aid and guard. I turned for the first time to look at the others to confirm they agreed to the price, and realized that many of them had not even been following the conversation. The gist of the bargain was quickly translated, but if I had hoped for unanimity I was to be sorely disappointed. Many were in favor of the bargain but one or two were violently opposed. They started debating among themselves, but all I could hear was Iliarn's rumbling voice directed at me: Choose.

So help me, I did.

He led me to the edge of a lake then. I think it must have been an underground lake that had long since frozen. He made me stand beside him, and he took an amulet from his throat and made me hold out my hand to take it. It was cold, like everything else in that place. A dark red stone on a chain, beautiful and foreign. He bid me hold it over the lake, and then spoke in strange syllables. Even never having heard the tongue before, I recognized it as the draconic language, and the power in the words. Even then, I knew it for a summoning I struggled to hold each of the foreign cadences in my mind, willing myself to remember--but then the world changed and there was something huge and silver and ethereal coming out of the lake. I forgot my interest in the draconic language for a moment, and looked in wonder upon the great dragon spirit of Granarock the Silver, as I later learned he was named.

To say the silver dragon spirit was immense would be like saying we were cold. Granarock filled my line of sight, blotting out so much ice and snow that I thought for a moment Iliarn had somehow reduced me in size. There were cries of wonder and terror behind me. One or two seasoned warriors fainted. I think I must have been too terrified to faint, because I have no idea why I remained standing. It was almost like walking in a dream. My fear was there, overwhelming me, but I endured. I stood and listened to the dragons speak in their own tongue. I tried to understand what was being said for a while, and then I gave up and merely watched. If I ever have the opportunity to learn the dragon language, I swear I will seize it, no matter the cost!

Eventually the spirit disappeared back into the lake and Iliarn turned to me again. He was nothing next to Granarock, but he was still formidable. He told me that the dragon would come for me then, when we called for its aid. He instructed us to return with the soulstones in short order. I willed my hands not to shake as they clasped the amulet back around his throat.

We were all a little subdued on our way down the mountain, thinking on what we had seen and what we would have to ask Callie and Everett for. They all praised me for what I had done. Brian's eyes shone with pride. I still felt numb, as if it had all been a dream that I hadn't quite woken from.

I was quiet this time as we made our report to Sir Evan. Only when it came time to ask for the soulstones did I speak up. Callie showed her noble spirit and did her country proud, and surrendered hers to me with a little coaxing. Everett ... well, it seems that he had other goals. Iliarn's scales were prized and he had hunted them in the past with Callie and others. He refused to give the ice wyvern a piece of his soul, even when Callie reasoned with him. Sometimes, she said, a woman may do things for love that she later comes to regret. I do not think she will hunt Iliarn's scales again, no matter the cost. I think what love she had for Everett that led her up the mountain by his side has faded. Everett, on the other hand, will likely try to reclaim his with the same fiery vigor with which he resisted us. Even Sir Evan offered his own stone, but Everett held out to the death. After Abi's impetuous and rather tragic pursuit was over and one of our healers had raised him, he gave up the stone.

I wonder what Iliarn will do with them. I wondered as I carried the two stones back up the mountain. For better or worse, I was chosen as emissary to the halfbreed, and though I loathed the thought of a second trip I went nonetheless. We found our way more easily this time, and Iliarn appeared before us quickly. There was no lingering. I gave over the stones and they found their way into his amulet, one on either side of the central stone. In a flash Iliarn was gone, burying back into the ice of his lair, and there was only the long trip back down the mountain.

I let the others go back to Sir Evan to make the final report, electing to remain at the Crossroads. For one thing, it is safer here, where Laura cannot scry on me. But for another I am still tired and cold to the marrow of my bones. The fear is still fading. There is something about that place that does something to me. And yet ... and yet we did it. I acted as emissary to the fabled ice drake, and we secured Granarock's aid. Whenever I close my eyes, all I can see is Iliarn's white form dwarfed by Granarock's silver might. It is a sight I do not think I will soon forget. I am privileged, to live in such times and see such things. Let us hope we all live a little longer.

[Carillon]

They say there is no rest for the weary, and perhaps it is true. I had not spent more than a night or two at the Crossroads recovering from the trip when I met Marcus, Sala, and Ben coming up the path again, bound for the Peaks. Chakar (who had been camping at the Crossroads with me as well) and I questioned them on their intent, and learned they were bound for a location in the mountains where an ancient tribe of giants known as Ether giants used to dwell. It seemed that the Ether giants, enemies of the Arcs, used to be able to exert a measure of control over the elements that might be useful in the impending battle, and with a rough map given to them by a sage who had been researching the lore of the Ethers, the trio were headed up into the mountains to retrieve anything that might help the Boyer kingdom's cause.

Of course, Chakar and I agreed to accompany them. We tried our best to avoid most of the yetis, as we would have been hard pressed to kill one without taking severe casualties and we were few enough in number already. For the most part, we made it up the mountain without too much trouble. Benjamin even found Brian while he was scouting and he came to join us.

It was shortly after that we saw the clouds gathering. It's strange--I know what a storm looks like on the ocean. I've seen them brewing off the shores of Leringard often enough. This was the same, and yet completely different. It was like the mountain unleashed the full force of its wrath on us. The wind picked up until we were nearly ripped from the mountainside, and the snow coming down was so thick we were nearly blinded by it. We took shelter under an overhang and someone produced a rope. I thought they would make us tie ourselves on but they only wanted us to hold on. I wrapped it around my forearms a few times, and it saved me once when I tripped.

If we thought we had felt the force of the storm before it was nothing compared to what was unleashed once we were huddled in the shelter of the overhang. All around us thunder boomed, deafeningly loud, and I swear I could feel Mist's presence in the crackling air. This was not a storm of the sea but it had something of her fury to it. Was this a sign or a test? No sooner had I formed the thought than lightning struck, not more than an arm's length away from me. Muireann always joked that I was waiting to convert until I was struck by lightning. Well, if it had struck any closer I do not think I would have been alive to convert. Strangely, I was not afraid. I think the others thought I had gone made, to hear me laugh as I did. Even to my own ears it was a crazy laugh, the laugh of a woman losing her grasp on sanity. And yet I reveled in it. Do your worst, Mistress of Storms! I thought. And I swear she did.

The storm raged for hours. It seemed like the mountain was falling all around us. There was so much snow that white lost all meaning. Beneath us was white, and in front of our faces was white, and beyond that, beyond the few feet in front of us we could see, there was only more white. We huddled there and I laughed and listened to the thunder, and watched the lightning flash. It made our world brighter, but no more or less white.

I can't remember which one of them fell first, Marcus or Ben. To my mind, they fell in almost the same instant, but I think one must have slipped and the other tried to grab them. All I saw was them grasping at the rope and failing to seize it, and then plunging their daggers wildly into the ice as they slid, searching frantically for some purchase in the sheer cliff. The plan formed in my mind without any delay but I held off a moment until I was sure they were lost. My hand had already drawn back the bowstring, though, after reaching through muscle memory for the one kind of arrow that could save them, and the line was wound all the way up and down my arms. Good fortune that I had been fishing when Sala and Ben and Marcus came through the Crossroads. Luck, nothing more, that I had a few fishing arrows in my quiver still. I don't even remember groping for the right one, and feeling for the thick cord secured to it. I fish for catfish and I can't be bothered to string more than one kind of arrow. All my lines are heavy. I prayed it would be strong enough to hold up a man. I called for Brian to hold onto me and dug my heels in, wedging myself against the rocky outcrop.

And then I shot. Straight into Marcus's thigh through an opening in the armor. I know Marcus's armor well. It's the same design he wore when we were together, and I took it off him more than once. I knew where to fire, but even so I wasn't sure I'd hit. The arrow flew true though, and it bit deep into Marcus's flesh and held fast. Bless Njord, who I never need to speak to any more to tell him my intentions ... he had fired an instant after I did, aiming for Ben, and his arrow hit as well. I think Ben cried out. I am not sure if Marcus did. I had a moment to wonder if it had hit after all, and then Marcus's full weight hit me as the cord snaked around my arms dug into my own flesh.

It hurt. Gods, it hurt. If Marcus didn't scream, I think I might have. I know my eyes stung with tears and my arms felt like they were on fire. Fishing line is not easy to hold onto, and it burned like a darkfire spell as it slid and tightened. Sala and Chakar were there in an instant, and Brian was there too, one arm around me even as he held his own line. Still, we would have fallen if Ben and Marcus hadn't kept their wits about them and taken some of the weight off by digging their daggers into the ice. Or if Brian had let his iron grip on my waist slip just a little. Or if Chakar hadn't been there, keeping us steady when Brian and I lost our footholds when a large boulder gave. It didn't even make much of a sound when it went. I suppose they wouldn't have made a lot of noise either, had they really gone over.

We got them back up. And we got the line out of my forearms. It had left deep, bleeding welts where it had bit into my flesh. Sala saw to it, after she tended to both the arrow wounds. She put some kind of ointment on it that made the stinging bearable and then bound it carefully. Marcus was quiet, but I knew he was still happier to have a sore leg than to have gone over. Ben praised our quick shooting. The storm lasted several more hours, but the worst of it had already passed for us.

Afterwards, the world was changed again. The snows had shifted like sand dunes in the desert, and when we were scouting we saw the remains of what could only be the giant civilization. It was strange though, for there were so many statues ... statues of giants everywhere. Adults and children, women and men. Near one that looked like a sorcerer or a chief, we found a body half buried in the snow. He looked like he had been young and he carried a pouch. We searched the rest of the camp at great length, but we kept coming back to this young giant man who clung to his pack with what was literally a deathgrip. His face was frozen in a deathmask of terror. We tried to pry the satchel from his hands but it was frozen to him. In the end, we melted it from his body, though we broke a few of his fingers trying to pry it away.

I was all for opening it there. What good is it to go all the way up and down the mountain and come back with a satchel that might contain nothing more than someone's ancient lunch remains? The others were against it. In the end we compromised, and shielding the sodden, defrosted pack with my cloak, Sala and I peeked inside. Wet papers.

Since there was nothing else that seemed to be worth taking back and because the others forbid me or anyone else from disturbing the papers before they could be properly dried and protected, we left with nothing more than the satchel. Still, a giant sized satchel is awkward to carry up and down a mountain, and it often took two people to get it down the trickier slopes. It was a relief when we had finally managed to lug it back to Amorean, the sage. He cast a protection spell on it of some sort ... I only recognized it as some kind of abjuration magic. I think everyone was on edge as he looked inside, but none of us expected what he found.

Scrolls. Dozens. All a single kind: stone to flesh. It took ... well, it took about a heartbeat's time to put it all together. That look of frozen horror. All those statues. It took a little longer to explain to Amorean that there was a field of statues up in the mountains that weren't actually statues. We went looking for what the Ethers had left behind and we found the Ethers themselves.

After that, it was just planning. A giant is much bigger than an elf or even a human, and stone is very heavy. Brian wasn't talking to me by that point so I was free to make some calculations while the others debated. He had seen the letter and knew it had something to do with Laura, and he was livid that I wouldn't give it to him or tell him its contents. It was quickly agreed that none of the citizens of Boyer could go into the pass, as it would be a sign of aggression and would certainly escalate things. Aid from Spellgard or Stormcrest through the portals in North Point and Dalanthar was possible, but might take some time. And the Boyer kingdom would seem very distant to people from Mistone. They might not feel inclined to help, but at least they wouldn't fear the ghost stories from the Thunder Peaks like the locals. They talked while I scribbled numbers and estimated how many statues were up there, and tried to guess the weight of stone and the weight a man might be able to bear. Finally it was decided we would beseech the Aeridinites in North Point for aid. I let the others go ahead while I finished my calculations.

A half ton. That's what one of the child statues would weigh. Ten men at least to handle it, and we were down to only four or five, since Marcus's leg was in rough shape and he couldn't make another trip. I felt bad about that, but only for an instant. I saved his life, dammit. He should feel nothing but gratitude toward me. For one of the adults, it would be worse. A full ton or more, and ... oh, twenty men maybe, as well as a sled and ropes. And if it tumbled and cracked on the way down, there might not be any chance of reviving the giant trapped inside that stone form by magic. When I caught up to the others at the temple and showed Sala my calculations I saw her face fall a little. They weren't doing well with gathering the aid of the Aeridinites. Life is precious, but risking many lives for a statue didn't make sense to the Aeridinites. It wasn't until I stepped in and gave them a more accurate accounting that they changed their tune. Not statues. Lives. Perhaps fifty, all told. And the lives of all those who would be lost in the battle for the pass, and all those that would be lost if Essrantor expanded his kingdom into Dalanthar.

They gave us men. I don't remember exactly how many ... somewhere between a half dozen and a full dozen, I think. It wasn't enough for a full sized giant, but it was enough for one of the children. We carried up the supplies for a sled and built it out of the wood growing near the glade with the statues. I would have risked a full sized one but they wanted to be certain so we picked a statue of a male child, small enough to manage but still far bigger than any of us. I carried the scrolls with me, finally dried, and we only needed to bring him past the towers to where the magic was active. I say only now, but there was nothing trivial about it at the time. It was hard, incredibly hard, getting him down the mountain. Next to that physical feat, the will it took to change him back using one of the scrolls was trivial. It was barely an effort for me.

The child--I wish I could remember his name now, but I can't--spoke elven. He was frightened, but I soothed him with a small enchantment spell and got him to focus on me. It took a while, to explain to the child where he was and what had happened, and what we needed him to do. It is harder to convince people when they are truly afraid. Fear consumes a large part of their will already, and the part you can bend to you is somewhat diminished. That, and if I bound him magically, it would only last until we crossed the towers. I did it the old fashioned way, with my silver tongue, and it worked. It took longer, but it worked. With the child, we had enough manpower to move one of the adults. We chose to bring back their chief, and once I turned him back it was easy. Still, it took a long time--perhaps a month, all told. When the last Ether giant had been thawed, their chief, Helmuut, addressed us. There were only four of us left by that time. The other three were human. Once again, I was the only one of my kind, smaller than my companions. We were all smaller than the Ethers though.

And Helmuut towered above even the tallest of his people.

For what we did for the Ethers, he granted us their aid, and the knowledge of their history. This is what he said:

I will pledge myself to your cause. I have faced no other Arc as merciless and cunning as Essrantor. You will need all the help you can get, though I fear you may have brought us back only to have us march back to a swift demise. Now, as to the state in which you found us. I should begin with a small bit about the history between the Ether and the Arc. Though cousins by divine creation, we are not family. Enemies. Ours is a relationship built on an eternal feud. Of all giant-kind, none can compare to the cunning and wit of the Arc. None except the Ether.

We are all that remains of the Ether that settled the mountains you call the Thunder Peaks. The Arc's jealous hatred wittled us down into near extinction. And herein lies the distinct difference between the Ether and the Arc: We, the Ether, crave peace and learning. The Arc craves nothing but power. Though we were truly no threat to them, in the mind of the Arc we are an afront to their supremacy, not to be subjucated like all other creatures, but hunted, tortured, and killed. We fought back, of course, but we are admittedly not as skilled in killing. Such has never been the focus of the Ether.

As I said, we are the last, were the last, and thus at the time I made a decision. Two pillars of thought supported this decision. The first is that we, as a people, were destined to die at the hands of the Arc, and we had no where else to go. The Arc followed the Ether to these peaks, and we had no reason to believe they would not chase us were we to leave. The second is that we believed the destructive nature of the Arc would eventually lead to their demise. Such is the natural way of things. We did not, however, anticipate the rise of Essrantor.

I decided, and the Ether agreed, that we should go into hiding until such a time that the Arc had moved on or destroyed themselves. Knowing that if we yet lived, the Arc would find us, we chose to die, if but for a time. We turned ourselves into stone. Granite statues to outlive the ages, and buried ourselves in the mountain snow. Only one remained alive.

Rorch. My son. A talented weaver of the Al'Noth. He would hide himself in magic and lie in wait until such a time that he might release us from our self-inflicted curse. You can imagine my surprise when it was not my son but an elf that restored me to flesh. But then you tell me what Essrantor has done. Severing the Al'Noth doomed Rorch. He had poor health for an Ether, a fact he made up for with his grasp on the Al'Noth. Had he tried, I suspect he would not have survived the trek down from the mountains without the use of the magic. He must have realized this, and chose instead to die near us, as you found him, a statue of ice instead of a statue of stone. My son, my loyal son, who can never be replaced. If we survive the attack on Essrantor, the Ether will take the proper time to mourn him, and I will open for him with my bare hands a proper grave in the mountain cliffs.

He squatted down beside us then, but even like that I was not tall enough to look him in the eyes. I took small comfort in the fact that only the tallest of my human companions came level with him as he knelt. Still, I felt small. His eyes were green, like mine, and piercing. His arms and legs were like massive tree trunks in an ancient forest. He looked at us, and told us we must tell him everything we knew of Essrantor and our fight with him, that he might devise something to help in the coming battles.

We did.

[Carillon]

Placeholder for Essrantor finale episode

[Carillon]

It is strange to be back on Mistone again. After the battle at the pass our army scattered like leaves to the wind. Some of us stayed, our eyes searching again and again in the direction Granarock's silver spirit had flown. Towards the mountain. We were all wondering what had happened. There were so many rumors, but nothing concrete. We did not know if our friends were alive or dead. All that seemed known was that a portion of the mountain had collapsed. I stayed for a while, hoping for word, but it never came. I think something must have happened to at least one of the runes though, because the Al'Noth was strange around the mountain. I am not sure how to describe it, exactly.

When it became apparent that no news was forthcoming, I finally returned to Mistone through the Dalanthar portal. I had gone to the Boyer kingdom in part to hide from Laura, and returning to Mistone it became apparent how successful I had been. No news of Laura had penetrated to the Thunder Peaks, and why should it? But not an hour back on Mistone, and news of her reached my ears.

Chaynce was the messenger this time. Sweet, stubborn Chaynce. There are only a half a dozen of my lovers that I've ever been really fond of. The others are a moment's comfort, but Chaynce I like. I still remember the night we shared together. It was in a stage where I would spend the night and be gone by morning. Chaynce was up before me and had already brought breakfast and hot, strong tea back to the room by the time I awoke for once. Sometimes I wonder if it was something that simple that saved us. Or maybe it was that it never happened again.

I learned from Chaynce that Laura was in the Brechs, and had been busy. There were undead wandering all through the mountains, and it was rumored that she had even turned Grenna Rockbasher and Skullcracker Headbang into zombies. Chaynce said he came face to face with her too. That she offered him a kiss. (As a disturbing aside, why do I feel an uneasy surge of anger at the thought? Am I defensive of Chaynce or perhaps something else?) That was all I heard before it dissolved into a litany of reasons he should lop off her head the next time he saw her. It makes me uneasy, hearing people talk like that. Laura is ... impossible. But I don't want her dead. And it's my fault she's in the Brechs, in some ways.

I bid him be calm, and appealed to his reason. I asked him to leave her alone, arguing she was too dangerous and I didn't want him to be hurt. It's true, but there's more to it than that. If that was all there was to it, I wouldn't have gone into the Brech Mountains that day. I wouldn't have been gone for the better part of a week looking for her up there, listening for the rumors. It seems she kept her word, though. As far as I can tell, not a single child has been killed or harmed, nor any of the women. At least not yet.

I found no sign of her, but I felt her up there. It was the oddest sensation, like a tingling or a little disturbance in my ability to control the Al'Noth. I knew she was close. I am certain of it. I cannot explain it, but there is no doubt in my mind. It was ... almost like I imagine it would feel to have a twin. It was disconcerting, and yet oddly comforting to know she was close. And terrifying too, to feel that connection and not know why.

The only other thing of note was that I saw a raven while I was in the mountains. It was dusk and Nida had just left to hunt. The raven seemed to be following me somehow. Normally I wouldn't have thought on it too long, but something about it made me wonder what Laura's familiar is.

[Carillon]

Something frightening happened the other day. I was in the Ire Mountains gathering wild corn when I came across a group of people, and spotted Brian among them. I was invisible, so I snuck over to ask what was going on. He said they were following a shapechanger, which was intriguing enough that I followed them.

They tracked it to the spider cave, and I needed silk anyway so I followed them. But then something went wrong. It changed into an illithid, and turned one of the halflings and I into rocks. I wanted to leave then. Illithids make me uneasy. But the others were pursuing it, so I followed.

It was dark near the bottom of the cave. A ranger and Brian went on ahead, skulking, to scout. Abi and I stayed with the two halflings. But when they didn't come back, I followed invisible. I rounded the bend, and almost fell over from nausea. There was blood everywhere, and ravaged bodies on the ground. Neither Brian nor the ranger was among them, and we had heard no sound, but it was apparent it was something more than an illithid.

And then things started happening very fast ... there was a shout ahead and Abi charged. I heard an inhuman screaming that pierced my ears, and then there was just a ringing. It was dark and the smell of blood was everywhere. And fear. I swear you could smell the terror. I didn't know what was happening, but they shouted at us to run so I tried to take the halflings. They didn't want to leave without the ranger though. I heard awful sounds behind us, and I think Abi fell. I didn't know where Brian was, and I couldn't stop to think about it. Either he would be fine, or the thing was too strong for me to do anything about.

I suspected the latter.

I do not know how far we were pursued. It felt like a nightmare. On our way out, spiders dropped down from the ceiling all around us. I was hard pressed to take them all, frantic as we already were, and someone got bitten. There was no time for invisibility spells for everyone and the beast or creature felt like it was right behind us, so we rushed out of the cave ... straight into a patrol of gnolls.

It was close. Far too close. One of the little halflings almost perished. I had to grab his head and pour a potion down his throat. We made it though. Some of us. I didn't see Brian for some time, and he didn't look well afterwards.

I still do not know what that thing was. I never want to find out.

[Carillon]

She came to me. She finally came to me again. And it occurred to me that in some ways my life has been reduced to waiting for Laura to come to me. I can search for her and not find her, but when she wants to find me she seems to be able to.

I was in Moraken's tower, scribing inks. Work is the only thing that takes my mind away these days. Illicit affairs have strangely lost most of their appeal and can rarely distract me. Scribing, infusing, brewing potions ... that requires enough of my mind that there is little left to wander.

I almost dropped the vial of ink when I heard her behind me. I cannot adequately describe my reaction to that voice. There is a surge though, of terror and fear and excitement all mixed together. I never know what she will bring with her, and though that scares me, it also makes me feel alive.

She asked me what I was making, and I showed her. She remarked I had many talents. And then she got to the heart of the matter. She is done with the dwarves of Ulgrid's Fortress. Her wrath is sated for now. Moreover, she does not wish to pursue the Council further, nor the last of the urns. She wants to go away somewhere, to let hostilities dissipate and fade into oblivion. Perhaps one of the Northern Isles, she said, far from anyone else.

And she wants me to go with her.

What do I say to that? Part of me wants to go with her, to study magic with her uninterrupted and learn what companionship might feel like. We are alike, she and I. I truly believe it, more and more. Given different circumstances, I might have become what she has, or she what I am. Whatever we are made of, she and I are the same. But to leave behind me all I have loved since I left my home? I have ties to the world that will hurt to sever.

I'm not sure what choice I have, though. Laura never phrases anything as an option. She expects me to go. And she wants to make me like her, whatever that means. I think I know what it means. I just don't know how she plans to do it. She scribed me a scroll. She said it was part of all of this, and bid me show it to no one. I am good at deciphering scrolls, but this one I could not understand. I think I could make the magic work if I needed to, but I have no idea what it would do. I have never seen the spell before. And I cannot ask anyone.

She gave me a few days to tie up my loose ends. She didn't say how many. She never does. She left angry that I had resisted her, and it pains me for some reason that she is upset with me. What she asks is too hard though! I don't know what to do. If I go with her, I can end a blood feud, but at the cost of the life I have built for myself and possibly my own soul. And if I refuse ... I do not even want to think of what would befall us all if I refused.

[Carillon]

How odd, to find myself saying goodbye to all I have loved since I left my home. I decided to go with Laura, and face the cost. I cannot in good conscience choose anything else, and I am still drawn to her. I would miss her too much if she went alone, and I fear a refusal would only result in more bitterness and bloodshed. I can keep her in check a little, perhaps, but there are always sacrifices to be made.

Some of the arrangements have been mundane. I thought about giving over the papers from Sedera, but didn't know who I wanted to give them to. Sasha, maybe. I made sure to bring Muireann a large batch of fresh fruit and wheat and oils so she would have enough to do while I was away. Baking calms her, and I worry for her now that Shamur is gone. She is so alone sometimes, and so private. There is a lot I don't ask her. Like whether she had anything to do with the rumor going around the temples of Mist that Aine Nic Connall has been eliminated from the church. I know she did. I just don't know what, exactly. They say that they found letters among her things proving she was a traitor, but she and Muireann were known to be enemies. It makes me wonder how Muireann found out, and what exactly “eliminated” means. Perhaps I will ask her when all this is over. I couldn't bear to say goodbye, though she is perhaps one of the few who would understand. I thought about leaving a note but it didn't seem right, and it would make it all so final. This way I can feel like I have somewhere to come back to.

Arkolio too, that was a strange goodbye. I got to spend a bit of time with him before I left. I was in Vehl, delivering an outstanding order of poisons to a contact in the city, and met him on the docks. I was in a terrible mood, and Ark was exactly the medicine I needed. Whenever I run into him, he's usually exactly what I need. We took off to the Dragon Isles together along with another woman ... I don't really recall her name. Yvale or Yvonne, I think. It was nothing more than a mindless, trivial romp, and I loved every minute of it. We demolished everything that crossed our paths. It was a joy to fight next to Arkolio. He is always prepared to be shallow when I need him to be shallow. He even positioned Yvale and I so we were kissing when the gorgons petrified us.

It lasted until we were out of the cave and Yvale left. I realized I honestly wanted his opinion. I may not entirely trust Arkolio, but like me he is very good at surviving. He has his heroic moments, but I get the feeling he knows how to take care of number one. And so I told him a little, and asked him what he would do. What he would do if he was offered an opportunity for power, a lot of power maybe, but at a high price that was not yet defined. He surprised me yet again, and grew serious and answered with some thought. He said it would depend on the price, but it was what he said next that warmed my heart. He said that if I ever regretted my choice, I need only find a way to let him know and he would find a way to help me. That no one was ever lost to those who knew how to ask questions and get answers. It was more touching than any declaration of undying love from a smitten one night stand could ever be. I think it might have even meant more than some of Brian's declarations that he would do anything. Because it's Ark, and for an instant it seemed like he might really care. Or maybe he just doesn't want to lose what's between the sheets. He did call me the finest looking woman he's ever ... well, anyway.

Point is, it's hard to tell whether Arkolio is ever being sincere. He could make you believe absolutely anything, that man. But the way he looked when I kissed him on the cheek and walked away ... I get to take that with me when I go. And I won't forget his offer.

It wasn't the only offer I had, either. A lot of people said the same thing, in a variety of ways. Trith reminded me that he'd do whatever he could to help me, and of his connections. Marcus ... Marcus didn't want me to go. He knew a little too much, and guessed a little too much, and got lucky and caught me in a lie and figured out Laura was to be my teacher. In the end he agreed, but I know he'll come thundering after me if I ever send word. And Brian, poor Brian. I wasn't going to tell him. Only that I was going to study somewhere for a while. He is accustomed enough to me going to Spellgard to practice with Aryell and Elmater that I thought it would be believable. But Marcus botched it, and it took me forever to calm him down.

It got worse, too. Just as Marcus was leaving, Brian stopped him and went out to talk to him. I sent Nida out invisible to spy but Brian saw right through it. I had her circle round again and come in quietly, and that time it worked. Still, interpreting the impressions of a bat is wickedly difficult and all I got was a sense of urgency and secrecy, and that Brian was asking Marcus for something and then they agreed on something. I knew he'd hate me for it, I just knew it. But I had to know what they had been talking about, so when he came back I cast a paralysis spell on him, and then bent his mind to me at my leisure.

It was easy. It always is with Brian. In some ways, that makes me sad. But I needed to know, and so I did it. And I learned all about how he is planning to make the urn into a bomb, and fill it with holy water and silver bullets and firebombs, and sacrifice himself to kill Laura when he hands it over. I can't let him do that. For one thing, from everything I've heard and read, destroying the urns is dangerous and needs to be done carefully. For another, I don't want him to kill Laura, and I certainly don't want him to kill himself in the process. Just when I'd learned all I could, he broke my hold on him. He looked so betrayed. He tried to make me tell him what I knew then, shaking me and digging his fingers into my arms. I didn't tell him anything. I think he's starting to hate me.

One person I didn't expect to see but ran into anyway was Ellis Kyudo, my old roommate from the Leringard Arms. Things were never right between us after what happened with Hardragh and Kali, but that was a long time ago. I sent her a letter a few weeks ago, though. I saw a notice in the market hall with her name on it, and Daralith Del'Mar (curse his black soul to the deepest abyss) had replied to it. Now, I don't know what Laura did to the Magus, and maybe he's no longer a threat, but I was not about to toss those dice and make that gamble. I sent Ellis a letter warning her not to deal with him, and just prayed she took my advice. Del'Mar may not charge in coin, but the price is always higher than you reckon it.

She asked me about it when we met at the fountain. I'm not sure whether it was the fact I clearly had personal experience with him or when I let slip he was a dark elf that changed her mind. Whatever it was, I was relieved when she agreed not to deal with him. We talked for a bit. I always liked her, always. Even telling Kali about Hardragh and I had a certain brash flair to it, though I hated her for it at the time and blamed her for the repercussions. That probably wasn't fair of me, just as it wasn't fair of Hardragh to blame me for Kali's anger. Many things aren't fair. Mostly, though, we seemed to be over that. We spoke of getting a drink some time, and of love affairs and trivial matters. She's converted to Ilsare, it seems. Oh, and she hates the mage Timulty, who I actually rather enjoy. He's such a wit, and there's a touch of the cynic about him I like. Of course, Ellis hates most men, including (she claims) Syton, who I've met a few times. Some Ilsaran. But then she's still hurting over her old flame. It's been almost ten years though. They were roommates before I moved in with her, and something tragic happened. I didn't figure it out for a long time, that they had been more than friends. She's like me, for the most part: usually men, but occasionally she will feel drawn to a woman. I have felt drawn too. The only difference is I've never acted on it.

One disturbing thing happened during our conversation, though. Ellis kept getting little shivers and chills every so often. I used to get them too, when Laura was nearby. I think she was watching me. Or maybe she's always watching me, but this time I think it was in person. It makes me nervous. I don't think it will be long now.

[Carillon]

She didn't even come herself. Her familiar, the raven, delivered the letter. I was nearly certain it was her familiar or some kind of thrall before it came. I saw it from time to time, watching me. It didn't bother me as much as I expected it to. The fact that her familiar is sent to watch me means that Laura has not forgotten me. Had not forgotten me. All the tenses changed when I cracked the seal of the letter and read its contents. It was not what I was expecting. It was nothing like what I was expecting.



Dearest Jaelle,

It is with heavy heart that I write you this letter. I know in my heart that we could never truly be friends.

I am leaving, but I am saddened to say it will not be with you. I shall return to my homeland where I may rest for a very long time.

Something terrible is happening to me and my being. I am beginning to feel the rapid effects of aging and fear my time shall not be much longer on this plane.

I know it means little to you or those you care about, but there are some things I am truly sorry for doing when I could have done much more good.

One says that evil is not born but rather it is raised. In some ways I cannot disagree, and in others I can.  I was once like you, and in our talks together, I have realized that I could never wish what I have become upon you.

You have many things to experience here, and a wonderful life to lead. My final gift to you is three-fold. In bank vault 342 in Port Hempstead you shall find the gifts. You are charged with the following and final tasks.

Turn over the first gift, the first urn of La'Forran, to the church of Aeridin.

Turn over the second gift, the second urn of La'Forran, to the church of Toran.

Ensure their destruction in the deepest fires and pits of hells.

The final gift is for you.

May you cherish it as I always have, close to my heart.

My love,
Laa'ra Evvanicc'ia



I feel lost, suddenly. I had made my decision and said my goodbyes, and now the rug is once again pulled from under my feet. In some ways, I hardly dare hope it is true. Could she really have given over the urns, and changed so much? And yet I sicken to think she is alone somewhere, dying. It hurts me in a way I can't quite name.

[Carillon]

I keep staring at the urns. It is strange indeed, to hold them and look upon them, and know that all this began because of them, and because of what they contain. If they are real, that is. Stars and sky, I wish I could just trust her. But if she wanted a cunning apprentice, surely she cannot blame me for my cynicism and doubts. I need to find a way to authenticate them before I can decide what to do with them.

Someone called a meeting to discuss her. There are posters all over the square in Port Hempstead. I believe they are calling for a hunt, and planning strategy. I cannot let them do it. The urns can perhaps be used as leverage. If they are real. I will see them destroyed if it nearly kills me, regardless, but I am not about to carelessly toss aside what might be my only bargaining card. And bargain I will, for Laura's life, or what remains of it.

I cannot help but wonder how long they sat in vault 342. Did Laura place them there only when she planned to go away without me, or have they been there for months or perhaps years? I was not entirely sure what to expect when the attendant escorted me to an alcove with a table and left me with the box after unlocking it. I was not sure they would be there. And I am still not sure whether or not they are real, or what exactly I should do with them.

I haven't told anyone about the urns yet. I wrapped them in layers of brown paper. They look like any other parcel I might carry. They sat beside me when I stared into the fountain in Port Hempstead. They were never out of my sight. I must look terrible, because people kept stopping by to ask me whether I was alright. I told those I didn't know that a friend of mine was sick, and possibly dying. Marcus and Brian I didn't tell anything. Not after Brian checked my neck for bite marks and pressed a silver ring into my skin to see if I would burn. I slapped him across the face for that. My temper is uncommonly short right now. One of my rings caught him against the cheek and he bled. I didn't care. He tried to get me to talk, but I won't talk to him. It angers him, but I don't trust him enough in this. He isn't canny enough to deal with this. He deceived me, too. He was never planning to get the real urn.

Marcus was a little better. Marcus held me, and I could feel the tears pressing behind my eyes. I don't know why I am like this. Maybe it is a kind of sickness of the mind. Maybe she enspelled me, enchanted me to make me miss her.

Maybe she didn't, and I miss her entirely of my own accord.

I wear the last gift around my throat, the gift she left only for me. A necklace, worn and ancient and beautiful, of elven design. Even in the box it glowed with a bright light, a kind of violet hue half way to indigo. The delicate mesh was made of platinum and woven to look like a web, with little golden spiders all over it. In the central mounting was an alexandrite stone, but no ordinary alexandrite. I swear, it must be the largest and finest alexandrite I've ever seen. Set below it were two small rubies. To me, they looked like glittering red eyes. I wonder if she can watch me through it when I wear it. I wonder if it is nothing more than a pretty collar that I have locked around my neck of my own volition.

May you cherish it as I always have, close to my heart. That's what she said. And so help me, I believe her. It is not a collar, or a trick. This was her necklace. Her name, her real name, is engraved on the back: Laa'ra. When I wear it I feel closer to her, and stronger. I don't want her to die. And gods be cursed, I am going to save her if I can.

[Carillon]

I stayed in Port Hempstead for a day or two, wandering aimlessly like a boat loosed of its moorings and left to the mercy of the tide. Finally, I felt the pull of Leringard, the one place that feels at all like home. I found a ship making ready to leave, and bought passage. The cabins were all taken but I made a deal with the Captain to have one to myself. I think he bumped some lesser merchant or made someone double up. Truly, I didn't care.

Despite having my own cabin, I spent little enough time in it. Perhaps sensing my mood, the sailors restrained themselves a little and the wolf whistles and comments were less than usual. And they let me stand on the deck, near the prow of the ship, and watch as we came into the Leringard harbour.

I love being at sea. There is a very strange kind of comfort to all that openness, to all that empty space and vacant horizon. It used to frighten me, being all alone with all that water. There are monsters below the surface. Sometimes I see the sailors on the Leringard docks bring back something with their catches. Something out of a child's nightmare, strange of form in death as well as life. They are down there, and the barrier between them and us is only the line between ocean and sky, permeable and wholly unable to protect us.

That hasn't changed, but my feelings for being at sea have. The sea is death, waiting, and it will claim me one day, but I am not afraid. Death will claim us all. I have already felt the burning sting of seawater in my throat more than once. I have not forgotten the day Hardragh pulled me from the water. How arrogant I was, to challenge the sea then. She would have taken me that day, had Hardragh not intervened. Now, she merely waits quietly. No storm blows to sink our ship. No waves reach for my with icy fingers to pull me down. She is content to wait. She knows she will have me eventually. They say all rivers run towards the sea. Perhaps my life runs seaward too. Surely even the stagnant waters of the swamp make their way home eventually.

It was raining as we came into the harbour. There are so many kinds of rain: big fat droplets that explode when they hit your skin; soft mists that are like the Goddess's caress; hard, pelting rain that seems to be trying to drive you into the ground. This rain was like a thousand sharp needles pricking at my face and neck and anywhere else my skin was bare. The waves tossed the ship up and down like a frolicking colt, and every time we hit the water again I tasted salt on my lips as a curtain of spray hit me. Laa'ra's necklace felt heavy where it sat, resting in the hollow of my throat. My gut felt like an aching empty pit and my chest was tight. My skin was red and a little raw with the stinging force of the rain. It hurt. And it felt good. Because it felt like something. Anything that wasn't numbness would have felt good right then.

I stopped at the temple before I went home. The sea was still choppy and by the time I reached the shore of Mist's isle my arms ached and burned. That felt good too. I left an offering of incense, more for Laa'ra than myself. I even tried to pray, but it ended up being a wordless prayer. It is hard to find the words to pray for someone you barely knew. How do you explain to a goddess that you are half in love with a former vampire who is dying, and can she please save her, just this once? Mist is not known to be a merciful goddess. Perhaps I should have prayed to Az'atta, for Laura's redemption. I don't care about redemption, though. Not really. I just want her to live, and to be free.

The incense was hard to light in the rain. Even after I got it going with a bit of fire magic, it kept sputtering and threatening to go out as I prayed. I didn't know whether that was good or bad. I stood for a while on the edge of the island, watching the waves crash. I listened for the message, for the words of the Lady, as Hardragh once told me to. All I could hear was my own deafening silent scream, so I went home.

I was soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone by the time I got back, and it was dark. Muireann's house has been colder than usual lately for some reason. Drafty, probably. I set the fire blazing and poured myself some wine even though my stomach felt empty. It still took a long time for the words to come. Half a stack of firewood. A dozen sheets of parchment at least, most of them reduced to ash in the fire, their aborted attempts consumed into nothing. A whole bottle of wine, and several of my strongest owl potions. Tears. I don't cry often, but I wept that night. For Laa'ra, and for myself, and for all the others who could show me the same wretched, tortured reflection of myself in the dark mirror of their lonely souls.

When there were no more tears to be shed and no more words to be written, I blotted the sheets dry and folded them together. Tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, I will take them to Hempstead and leave them in Box 63, in the hopes that this letter will find her. The dark wax looked like strange, thick, molten blood as I poured it on. I chose not to imprint it with any particular seal. If she ever reads it, she will know it is from me.


~~~


Dear Laura,

The writing of this letter is no easy task for me. My heart is heavy with the news your last correspondence bore, and the knowledge that this poor attempt at relaying my thoughts to you may never reach you at all. You may have already passed beyond these shores to some distant land I have never traveled to. If that is so and this shall never reach you, I pray you somehow know, nonetheless, that I shall carry out the last task you set for me as best I can. Your gifts are safe, and I shall see the first two destroyed according to your wishes. The third I shall keep ever close to my heart, as I do you.

It is strange, is it not, to think that we have ended up thus? We have judged each other harshly at times, you and I. Know that it grieves me to hear you say that we could never truly have been friends. I say honestly that I have feared you and resented you betimes, but I have also respected you and cherished your company, as surely as I have hated some of your actions. Know that in my heart, I do name you friend, whatever you or others may believe.

We are neither of us perfect, you and I. I do not believe there is a soul in the world that is. Darkness lurks within each of our hearts, as surely as light does. Sometimes, too, the darkness that lives in the hearts of others may touch us and make us other than what we might have been. Know that I judge you not on what Veira made you, but on what you have become since, and what you choose to do with the time you have left. Heroes speak of good and evil as if they were absolutes, but they are not. They are choices we are always making, and those who think the choices easy are fools. There are times we may think ill thoughts or commit ill deeds, and I am not sure it is always wrong. And yet each of us, as flawed and imperfect as we are, may also choose the opposite, as you have. We may all choose to strive towards the light.

So you are dying. Ah, my dear—so am I. So are we all. That is the way of life, is it not? We are born to die, as simply as that. And not just us, but all things, in their time. Each day dies as the sun slips from the sky. Flowers die as autumn devours summer and the first killing frost touches them. Ships die in storms, dashed onto the rocks. Buildings crumble, legacies fall, hope fades. As surely as we live, we are all doomed to perish, sooner or later. It is a bad bargain, is it not, this thing called life? And yet it is what we are granted, and we find merit in it where we can. We become immortal not through cheating death but through leaving our legacies etched on the world after death.

You do not have to die alone. I have known solitude and loneliness, Laura, more than many know in a lifetime, and I do not wish them on you. The choice is ever yours and I cannot force your hand in this, but know that should you choose to trust me, I shall keep faith with you in this. Say only where you are and that you wish my company and I will come to you again. Not out of obligation or duty, or for honor, or out of goodness of heart or because I once called you Mistress. Call it instead friendship or perhaps, if you dare, call it love.

My dearest hope is that you will relent, and I shall see you again, even if only for a handful of brief intervals. There is still so much I want to know, so much I wish we could discuss. Death may be a part of life, but I find myself unwilling to give up on you just yet. If there is an answer to your condition, I shall search for it with all the resources available to me. If it is not to be, though, know that there is one that remembers you fondly. When I think on you and speak your name, it shall be with love.

Be easy, Laura, wherever you are, and ever take joy in the light as well as the dark.

My love,
Jaelle

[Carillon]

Now that Laura is gone, things are moving slower. I have the urns but I am not certain what to do with them. I need to get them authenticated, but that is proving difficult. I could ask Connor for help. I was on my way to Spellgard when I got the letter from Laura, and though I put off the meeting to retrieve the gifts from the vault and take some time, I will be meeting with him eventually. (He is good about making time for me but it may be a short while before we can reschedule.) I'm reluctant to involve him in this facet of things, though. For one thing, it might detract from his focus on learning about Laura's condition, and now that I know she is dying, that research is more important than ever.

I've tried to ask Elohanna, but she's as slippery as an eel regarding the urns. We bumped into each other in the Hall of the Al'Noth in Port Hempstead and I tried to question her on how one might authenticate an urn. She did not think there was an easy way for me to do it, as most of the records had been destroyed, but she might have been lying. Certainly she was withholding some information. She was very evasive and clearly uncomfortable, though I attribute some of that to the presence of a local noblewoman.

Well, the Lady Saida Rothsford may be a noblewoman now, but she was not always. Her title was a perquisite of marriage (or likely the marriage's primary goal!) and not any privilege of birth. She was born Saida Peppe'rin, I think. Or at least that is the name she was tried under quite a few years back in Spellgard. Brian has spoken of her once or twice in the past, as he testified at the trial. He and Abigail Firesteed had several encounters with her, from what I could gather. Saida is an enchantress in every sense of the word, and I believe much of the trouble surrounding her was related to the misuse of certain spells that bend the mind. Spells I am quite familiar with, and have employed on occasion. Though there was also some business with attempted murder and a guard or two that went missing right around the trial date. Or so I heard. We've spoken several times and she has always been very charming. Most enchantresses are. She even invited me for tea, saying she had something to discuss with me. I'm considering going, but haven't made up my mind.

On the subject of enchantment spells and bending minds, I shall have to speak to Aryell about something the next time I can catch her for a lesson. I have been meaning to ask her whether there is any way to tell whether someone's mind is truly bent to your will, or whether they are merely acting the part. I helped deal with a bandit problem very recently in Vehl, and one of the bandits proved blastedly strong-minded. Incredibly so, actually. And a cursedly good actor to boot. Not only did my enchantment spells not take, but he was able to pretend they did and it was very difficult for me to be certain. That just will not do. When I enspell someone to get information from them, I need to know that information is correct. Luckily I caught most of his lies before we left him hidden and bound, drugged by one of my sleeping draughts, but it made our task much more difficult and was embarrassing.

I do not like to be embarrassed. He paid later, for that and for other things. His superior had captured four children, two boys and two girls, and was holding them hostage. He proposed a trade: us for them. Unfortunately, there were too many arrogant fools in our company who don't understand the principles of negotiation and bargaining. There is a time and a place for bargaining, but there are some people who are too mad, too powerful, too arrogant or too desperate to bargain. When dealing with them, persistent attempts to take control of the situation will only escalate tensions. Tensions escalated, alright. Due to the bumbling efforts of several of our would-be negotiators, including the Ilsaran cleric Alleina and Brian's father Rain, all four children were killed. One of the girls had her throat cut first, and then the other three were slaughtered during the ensuing struggle.

The first child's life being lost was a tragedy, but perhaps can be excused by my companions not realizing how serious the situation was. They thought they could outsmart our foe. It's a flimsy excuse, but it is an excuse. The other three are inexcusable. Their selfishness and stubbornness cost those children their lives. Throats slit and necks broken, they were cut down because we were too proud to bow our heads. Even I would have done it, I think. Traded myself for ransom, I mean. I am sure there is a price you can set on a child's life. Everything has a price. I reckon the price as considerably higher than my own pride, though. All the bandits were killed, but it is little consolation. I heard the children were taken to the temple in Vehl and raised, and are being kept there until they are claimed or someone decides what to do with them. I plan to go and visit on the morrow.

The bandit I had drugged paid some of the price. I admit, I was angry, and the others had forgotten him. I hadn't. I went back, and waited until he awoke. I am quite certain my face was not a welcome sight, pretty as it usually is. I had no looking glass with me, nor would I have stopped to check if I had, but I believe I looked quite frightening. My blood boiled with rage and I could feel the magic crackling all around me. Lightning magic has been my focus lately, and I could feel the hairs on my head lifting a little into a wild black mane as I sought the power within me. That would have been too easy, though. I didn't want it to be easy. And I wanted information. We took it slow. Very slow.

I expected to feel something afterwards, but I didn't. Not what I was expecting, at least. I just felt rather calm. His soul was black, as was his heart, and his mind was twisted. I have no doubts about that, so I do not feel bad about killing him. It made me think about Steel and his Dread Blade axioms though. I am not sure he would approve. Maybe he would think it was unfair to keep the thug restrained with a spell while I hurt him. No matter--I didn't feel like giving him a sporting chance.

He talked, in the end. Nearly everyone will, unless they are so crazy their minds have already broken. Senseless tragedy. The children's father crossed his boss, and he killed the man and took his offspring. There were other details too, all worth knowing though none important enough to mention here. I did not enjoy his pain, though I expect he enjoyed it less. By the time he was done talking he was already broken. I just killed him. A light touch, almost a lover's caress, and he burned from the inside out. Perhaps Steel would approve of the fact I met his eyes as he died, at least, cupping his face gently with both hands to fuel the fire, feeling the Al'Noth pour through me ... Fire magic is so easy when you are angry. My own protections and resistances protected me from most of the heat so I held my hands there and watched the flesh burn from his face, layer by layer, until there were no more screams and even the bones were nothing but dust.

I scattered the ashes so no one would look askance if people remembered him and came looking for him. No one even asked, though.

[Carillon]

I've been visiting the children in the temple. It took me a while to get there, in more ways than one. For one thing, I've never liked the Rofireinite temple. I avoid it whenever I can. I always feel like the dragon's eye is on me, boring into my soul. For another, I do not have fond memories of this place. I remember coming here with Muireann to answer Jennara's questions after the fiasco with Kali's little thug. We may not have lied, but nor did we tell the whole truth, and I can't help but wonder if that will come back to haunt me one day.

I suppose if I am being honest, it is also because I knew it would hurt, to see them. My preliminary inquiries revealed they were traumatized by their ordeal. It is no little thing, to die and be brought to life again, and it takes a heavy toll on the spirit. Some spirits or souls seem to endure it better than others, but if children are resilient they are also fragile, and the scars the acquire in youth will not be easily shed later in life.

I speak from experience. I know that now.

I spent a long time, thinking about how I would do it, and what I might do once I was there. Praise the stars and sky that the temple is by the ocean. Listening to the waves go in and out, I was able to think clearly. Still, it hurt. It hurt to remember.

Is it in our nature to impose our own stories on others, as if they were so many blank pages to be written on? These four are not me. They are a story unto themselves. And yet I can see the dark thread of my own childhood caught up in the pattern too, and the memories flood me. I hear my father's voice in the waves, and I see my mother's eyes and that beautiful face, so like to my own, twisted in death.

I did not expect it to hurt so much still, after so much time. I thought I had become numb to it by now. Perhaps it is because their loss is so fresh, so raw still, the wound still weeping freely. Perhaps that is why their pain tugs at me so, and why I see so much of my child-self in them. Little lost children, all alone now, their world as shattered as their broken hearts. Oh, they have had company. They have had no end of company and visitors, all of whom come with loud voices and cheerful smiles and toys and messages of hope and joy and comfort. Or so I have heard. I wonder how many of them realize how quickly children learn to wear brave smiles as masks. I did it once, when father did not come back, to protect my mother from my grief while she dealt with her own. Our silence protected us from each other's pain for the most part.

It shows most when they are alone, or when they do not know anyone is watching them. The older three forget to be brave then, and the masks slip a little. You can see it happen, if you watch closely. I may not be good with children, but I know how to watch. They curl up within themselves again, pulling away from the world. I think I know where they go. There is a place somewhere deep in the mind, made of numbness and soft grey hues. I remember that place. It is the place you go when it hurts too much and you think you will die from the pain and the sadness and the fear. I think the little one, Liam, went to that far away place and never came back. A whispering voice inside my head worries he may have gone too far, far enough no one will be able to bring him back.

There is a difference between grief and this kind of wound. Grief is present in our everyday lives. We are saddened by the deaths of friends, and by bad news. It is a pain born of loss, and one that will heal in time. It does not change who we are. This other pain is a wound that can fester all too easily, though. It is a pain that goes beyond loss, and into the realm of terror and irrationality. This wounding pain is worse than grief, because it reminds you that you are helpless. I know no other way to describe it but as trauma, pure and simple.

When I finally went I went quietly, aiming to be unobtrusive. The first day, I brought herbs with me, and a mortar and pestle. I remember pacing outside the temple, back and forth, under the dragon's eye. When I asked for the children and told him I had been there when they died, the priest did not seem surprised. Other visitors had come before me. He led me to their room, and left me there with them.

I remember hovering on the threshold for a moment before entering, watching them. There they were, all four, just as I remembered. Except I hadn't seen all of them in life. The oldest, who I guessed to be around eleven or twelve, looked sullen and defiant. His brown hair looked shaggy, like it needed trimming. He looked like he wasn't paying attention to anything, but I could see the tension in the lines of his body, in the way he held himself. Poised for flight.

His sisters were beside him, their faces like the dark and light sides of a single coin. Two girls cut from the same cloth, but very different. The older one had sharper features and dark hair. Her eyes were dark too, and full of anger. She reminded me of nothing more than a black cat, claws extended and ready to hiss at anyone who got close. The littler one was fairer, in both senses of the word. Pale hair and blue eyes. A pretty child, and softer than her older sister. Quieter, too. She lacked the older one's restlessness. Her grief was pretty too. She made you want to reach out and cuddle her, to comfort her. I remember thinking men would want to comfort her when she was older, if she couldn't heal and leave some of her wounds behind. They would be drawn to her like moths to a flame. I knew that one from experience too. There is a powerful allure to a wounded woman. Men always want to save her.

It took me a moment to see the youngest one. He was curled up in the corner, a little ways away from his siblings, his jaw slack and his expression distant. For a moment I thought he was staring at something. Then I realized there was simply no one home. His eyes were almost as empty of life as if he had still been dead.

I didn't need to make much noise to alert them to my presence. They were already watchful, more alert than other children would have been. Jumping at shadows. I remembered that too. I forced myself to smile and say hello softly, and then I did something much harder: I forced myself to ignore them. I found a little corner in the room to sit in, and unpacked my herbs and mortar and pestle and went to work. It was difficult not to look up, not to watch them. I could feel three pairs of eyes boring into me, but that was alright. I was an intruder in their little sanctuary, and I suspected it would take a while for them to become accustomed to my presence. In all honesty, it was the absence of the fourth set of eyes that bothered me more.

The first afternoon was the hardest. They were uneasy with my unfamiliar presence, and I didn't blame them. I let them watch me, and tried to relax into my work. My pestle scraped against the mortar again and again, pounding the little dried leaves into fine dust. Every so often I would tip the contents into a little folded envelope or funnel them into a vial and put a few more dried leaves in the bowl. The fair-haired girl--Lissa, as I later learned she was called--showed interest first, but her older brother and sister held her back from investigating, I think. They were suspicious of my presence, and protective of their little sister. I didn't blame them.

Things had settled a little by the time I left. I got a lot done, in those few hours. That first afternoon they relaxed just enough to whisper amongst themselves, but they kept their distance. I didn't mind. I have spent a lot of my life in the solitude of the swamps with only my own thoughts for company. An afternoon of quiet is no great trial to me, and I can be patient when I want to.

The second day was easier. I brought the herbs again, and also some sheets of parchment and inks and quills. There are a few runes I have been having trouble with when scribing, and practicing their forms in mundane ink would do me no harm. They noticed me right away when I came into the room. Well, three of them did. Again, I greeted them quietly, pleasantly, and then got right to work. I could tell they were already more accustomed to me by the way they spoke more freely with each other. I watched them out of the corner of my eye. All three older children were curious today. I tried to hide my smile and waited. It didn't take very long.

What are you doing? I looked up to identify the source of the soft voice. It was the younger girl, Lislea. Lissa, as her siblings called her. I wasn't surprised she was the first to speak to me. Lissa, don't talk to her! the other girl hissed. Rhiannon. Rhia. I am drawing pictures, I told Lissa, ignoring Rhiannon's whispered warning. Do you want to see?

She did.

Every day since has been a little better. I try to go each afternoon, choosing the quietest time of the day. I bring herbs with me, and parchment and inks, and objects I have picked up in my travels. They are responding, slowly. They are no longer wary in my presence, at least, or as guarded. And I can watch them now.

Lissa likes to draw pictures on my parchments in all different colours of ink. They are just a child's drawings, just pictures, but you can read the meaning in them like the symbols on a scroll or a message written in code. Her bright, cheerful butterflies have sharp teeth, and she draws the sun in dark colours. They are troubled pictures. When she draws herself or her brothers and sister, the figures are shaky, as if she is no longer quite sure how to represent them, or herself.

Rhiannon likes to help me with my herbs. I talk to her about them, explaining what each one does and how to use them. I am not sure it matters to her. I think she just likes being able to pound them into dust. She is full of anger, full of more rage than a ten year old child should have to know. Her rage overwhelms her fear, hiding it, but I think it is still there underneath. She is as fierce as a tigress, always talking about revenge.

Finn, the eleven year old, still doesn't quite trust me. He keeps his suspicions largely to himself, but they are there, under the surface. When his parents were killed, he tried to protect his siblings. When they were all killed as well, I think perhaps his faith in humanity was severed for good. He tolerates me ... even seems fond of me. He likes my little illusions, and all the sleight of hand tricks Elmater taught me during our sessions. We have had a little fun together, even. But he is always waiting for the knife in the back, watching for the betrayal.

And Liam, little Liam. He was the first one I saw, the one the half-orc held over the cliff, the one whose neck was snapped with as little remorse as one might slaughter a fowl for supper. The trauma was too much for him. It broke him. Not once, in all my visits, has he said a word or shown any interest in what is happening around him. Most of the time, he is like a silent, living doll, a constant reminder of what the children have endured. I have taken to sitting next to him so he can at least feel my presence, and to signing to him as well as speaking to him. If he ever chooses to communicate again, I am not sure he will use his voice. At least this will give him another option. Right now, the hurdle is not communication of any sort, though. It is sitting up on his own, and chewing his food rather than letting it run down his chin. If there is truly hope for Liam, recovery is a long way away.

And so it goes. I visit nearly every afternoon, not knowing what the day will bring, or if today will be the day they choose to talk about what happened, or their parents. For now, I hope my quiet presence brings them some comfort. At the very least, I will settle for doing these children no more harm.

[Carillon]

My meeting with Connor and Anna in Spellgard has come and gone, and we have all made our choices about the actions we are prepared to take. They have chosen to judge Laa'ra based on what she is now and not what she was. And I, well, I have chosen to trust them.

Part of me wants to profess I had little choice in the matter but it isn't true. I could have lied or kept so many things to myself, but I did not. Perhaps it is because I am still heartsick over the loss of my friend, as difficult as she has made life for me. Or perhaps it is because Connor and Anna truly seem willing to help without judgment. They only wish to understand, and they will never be able to do that if I can't let down my guard a little.

We were still careful. I do not think Laa'ra means me harm but I cannot be certain all of this isn't a ruse. Connor kept watch with the Sight while we met, and made sure we were not scryed upon. We discussed vampirism at some length again, and how such diseases might be cured. I told him about what was befalling Laa'ra, and it seems there are two possible explanations: either her body is merely making up for lost time and her rapid aging will slow when she is the age she would have been had she never been turned, or it is a consequence of her return to mortality and will continue until it kills her if left unchecked. I don't know which one to hope for. She has already been cheated out of so much time. It is not fair for her to lose any more.

I did not tell Connor about the urns or show him the scroll Laa'ra gave me or her letter, but I did show him the necklace and her feather. I think Anna recognized them for what they were: signs of her love and trust in me. I wonder what she thinks of it all. Connor believes Laa'ra may have left them as a way for me to contact her. I already knew it was possible to scry on her through the feather, as I have heard the Council speak of it. The necklace, if it truly is as dear to her as the letter claims, could also act as a magical focus during a divination attempt. I am relieved I have a way to contact her, but at the same time I am afraid to do so without any hope to offer her. For now, I wait for Connor's contacts to find us a solution, or at least something to gamble on, and continue to pursue my own research into the matter.

Connor gave me another warning, too, and it was one that I was not expecting. It was about Muireann. He told me it was not safe for me to be in that house anymore, and that I should find somewhere else to be if possible. Anna was there and I don't know how much she knows (though I suspect he tells her almost everything--there is an exceptionally strong sense of trust and intimacy between them) so I couldn't question him too much about it. From what I could gather, something has changed in Muir's bond to the planar, and the house is filling with negative energy that might be dangerous. In hindsight, that is probably why all the rooms have seemed so cold lately. Bob's presence is like a shadow falling over the house, and Muireann and any who stay with her will be caught in it. I trust Connor's intentions and believe there is indeed some risk if I choose to ignore his warning, but at the same time I am loathe to leave Muireann alone. She is dearer to me than I care to admit, and other than Donnacadh she has no one now that Shamur is gone.

Unfortunately, I am making no progress in authenticating the urns. It is like beating my head against a wall. There are no open records on things that were kept so secret, and every time I pry I risk tipping my hand. More and more I am convinced I will not be able to fulfill Laa'ra's wishes alone, and time before the meeting is running out. There is one other piece of good news, though: I found the record I was looking for, deep in the Spellgard archives. I almost choked to death on the dust searching for it, but it was worth it for the way my heart skipped a beat when I saw her name there on the page in the faded ink, undeniable: Laa'ra Evanicc'ia. And below, information even more precious. The year of her registration in the school, 1195, and her home city at the time. I know where to look now, when Connor's sources find our answer: Fort of Kings, Alindor.

[Carillon]

As I am making no progress with the urns and Connor's Spellgard contacts are doing everything they can to search for a cure, I decided to return to Fort Vehl for a while before checking in at home again. On my way to Fort Vehl I stopped in Port Hempstead to hear the news, and ran into the Lady Saida Rothsford again. She tendered me an interesting offer--she wants me to teach in her school.

I haven't decided whether or not to accept yet. On the one hand, I think it might be a waste of my time. I am a student of magic, not a teacher of children. Up until now lessons have been about learning more and increasing my own power, not correcting the diction of snot-nosed noble children. There is no guarantee any of them even have my Gift, anyway. Sorceress powers often manifest on the cusp of adulthood, as mine did. Her students may be too young to show any real potential. Still, there is merit in what she is trying to do, or at least what she claims she is trying to do. She's right--those girls should not have to feel helpless, and magic would allow them to defend themselves. It could also turn them into a little noble enchantress army. Saida is too charming and too good a liar. I trust nothing of what she says, nor her motivations. I do not know what her game is but I don't want to be caught in the middle of it.

Seeing the children again was a strange joy. I found myself thinking of them often when I was in Spellgard, and I think they were part of the reason I made such haste to return. I find myself growing rather attached to them in a strange sort of way, and I think they have grown attached to me too. The older ones seem to look forward to my visits now, and one of the priests said they asked after me when I was away. I did tell them I was going, to be fair. I thought it best to warn them, as they have had enough cruel surprises in their short lives.

I think they are mending, slowly. It is so hard to tell, because it is such a gradual process and there is so much healing to be done. They still don't like to talk about it much, but every so often there's a little hint at how much they keep to themselves. The priests tell me they have nightmares from time to time and still have trouble falling asleep, but I haven't pushed them to talk about it. Finn and Rhiannon are especially reticent, in some ways. I suspect it's harder for them, being older. They don't want Lislea to see their fear or their weakness so it's never discussed. Their unspoken fears coalesce into a big dark demon that lurks in the shadowed corners of every room, watching silently over everything they do. Actually, that's almost how Lissa drew it, the one time she did: a great dark shape surrounded by smaller shapes. It wasn't until I asked her about it and she told me that they were the “bad men who killed mummy and daddy” that I noticed the little figures in the corner of the parchment. Even  the smallest of the dark shapes was much bigger than the huddle of little stick people trying to scramble off the page.

I worry for them all, but I worry for Liam the most. Not that the other three don't have their own issues still. Lissa wants to be touched all the time, as if she is afraid of being alone. She seeks comfort wherever she can find it, even from near strangers. And Rhiannon has grown no less angry with the world, and Finn no more trusting of strangers. Liam is without doubt the most wounded, though. He still has not spoken, nor responded to anyone's attempts to communicate. What progress he makes is painfully slow and to strange eyes it must look like he hasn't changed at all, but he has. He does more than lie on his side now. He sits on his own. If you spoon food into his mouth, he will actually chew and swallow without prompting. Small measures of healing, but after fearing there was no hope at all they are like giant leaps and strides.

After seeing the children, I finally went home to Leringard. I moved in with Brian temporarily, until I can determine how much risk I'm in at Muireann's house.. I didn't tell mention anything to him about Muireann's house being cold, or about negative energy and bonded beings. I probably shouldn't have moved in with him at all. I should have found somewhere else, anywhere else, because living with Brian is like living in a cage. There is no air, no space. I lie awake at night in the bed next to him and feel panic clawing at my throat. I can't breathe, can't relax, can't do anything but get up and leave.

The panic starts to ease the moment I am out the door, when Nida sweeps down out of the sky to greet me. She and I have been bonded so long now that she truly understands me, and understands my needs. She knows where I will go the moment she feels me stir and get up from the bed, trying not to wake him. I don't feel completely right until I'm close enough to the ocean to feel the spray on my face, though. I walk the shoreline under the moons, or sometimes I row out to the temple and lie on the edge of the cliffs, poised on the edge. An hour or two before sunrise the boats start to go out. I love to watch them. In the black, they are reduced to little globes of light dancing on the dark water: ship lanterns, swinging gently to the rhythm of the sea. I watch them go, and part of me longs to go with them and be free of all of this.

Brian thinks I am seeing other men when I leave. I am almost certain of it. Strangely, I'm not. There has only been Brian since before Laa'ra left. I am trying so hard, so hard to be good, but it's getting more and more difficult to keep it up. I can't breathe around him. He is always there, watching me. With Muireann, I had space and she never pushed me. Brian can't even stand my leaving at night. Three days ago, when I got back at dawn, he was gone. There was no note, nothing. He still isn't back, so I am going south again. He delivered his message, loud and clear, and now I've given him mine: I left my key on the nightstand.

[Carillon]

I need to be more careful around Elgon.

It happened at the fire near Hlint the other day. It was an accident, really. He kept trying to get me to open up to him, to comfort me somehow. And so I decided to play with him a little bit.

It was meant to be harmless. I barely touched him, just grazing his side with my fingers, touching his back as I looked into his eyes. It's been too long since I last did this, though. I'd forgotten how powerful the slight touches can be. I only meant to tease him, but as I did so I realized how long it's been since I've seen anyone but Brian.

He resisted. Stoically. Gods, it's almost fun when they resist. Is that wrong? Or is it just nature, that when they run we want to give chase? He desired me, but he resisted. It was right about then that I figured out he had a woman in his life already. They never fight it so hard if there isn't a good reason. It was about five seconds later that his sisters showed up.

I was sorry afterwards, because he was so stiff and embarrassed. And because he's my friend, I think. I want to be friends with him, but I'm not sure how he'll feel about it after this. He left with his sisters. They asked me to come with them, but I let him have his space, having caused enough damage for one night.

I think he understood, though. Right before we pulled away, while I was still looking into his eyes, I saw something there. Sad comprehension, maybe. He understands now what I meant when I said that  I'd been alone for too long. He knows it never really ended. I can be as close to someone as two people can be, and yet I am still always, always alone.

[Carillon]

I went to see Elohanna and took her into my confidence yesterday. I can make excuses as to why I felt I should trust her, but the truth is it was a gamble. Quite simply, I was out of options.

I went to her house in Fort Llast, the urns wrapped in simple brown paper, hidden in my pack. She answered the door herself, clearly surprised to see me. I expected as much. She was clearly uncomfortable to have me there, but I expected that too. Still, she invited me into her house and across her threshold. I'm not sure whether I would have crossed if she hadn't.

We danced around the topic for a while, and she didn't give me much. So I chose. Laa'ra, forgive me, but it is simply too much for me to do alone! I needed her help. I showed her the urn.

Lady of Storms, but it was satisfying to see the look on her face! Probably petty, but oh it was fun to see her eyes widen as she realized what I held. It isn't often you can pinpoint the moment that everything changes. For Elohanna and I, that was the moment, and I knew it then. I got to see comprehension dawn on those elven features as she started to piece it all together.

Even so, I think it was hard to believe. I don't really blame her. Vampire falls in love and is redeemed? It's a cross between an Az'attan parable and an Ilsaran romance! And yet of all of them, she was closest to Laa'ra before she changed back. She might not have been able to deal with her but she didn't hate her as the others did. And like me, she dared to believe that Laa'ra had chosen an act of redemption.

My heart still aches for her. She is dying alone somewhere, far from me. She should not have to die alone. She should not have to die at all. Yes, she sinned, but don't we all? Haven't I? If there is no hope for Laa'ra, there is no hope for me. I want it all to be real. I want the urns to be genuine.

Elohanna agreed to help. I knew she would. More importantly, she agreed to keep this a secret until we were certain. Her simple trust in me astonishes me, for it is such a change. I swear, Alatriel thought she had gone mad when she walked in with the baby and saw me standing there. She seemed quite reluctant to give Clarisse back to her mother while I was still in the house.

It's strange to look into Clarisse's clear little eyes and know that none of this means anything to her. Somewhere my friend is dying, and I am charged with destroying urns that in the wrong hands might resurrect a terrible demon, but her world is so much simpler. Her world is one of light and happiness and love. I feel like a dark shadow in contrast, doubting even Laa'ra's last act of redemption and suspecting a ruse. Elohanna is making arrangements. We will have the urns authenticated in North Point very soon, and then one way or another I will know the truth.

Gods above, I want to believe. I'm just not sure I remember how.

[Carillon]

Waiting while Elohanna arranges our trip to North Point is quiet torture. Every day, I wonder whether Laa'ra is still alive. Every day, the day of the mysterious meeting regarding Laa'ra ticks closer and closer. I fear they are planning a witch hunt.

Lady Saida Rothsford is certainly a distraction, though I would hesitate to call her a pleasant one. Actually, the woman is one of the most arrogant, self-righteous cows I've ever met. Oh, and she's as beautiful and charming as all hells. It's a strange contradiction. Physically, she's beautiful. When she smiles, she's charming. But in other ways she has the social graces of a clumsy sow! If she were not so naturally charming, I am quite certain she would give deadly offense to some hapless passerby no fewer than seven times a day! I am not sure she would even care, though. Like the worst of nobility, she looks down to everyone who doesn't have social status or position. It isn't judging their worth that bothers me--judgment is natural. It is just such a ludicrous criteria! I have far more respect for some near-penniless sailors than I do for most of the nobles of any given city.

It does make things interesting, though. I am torn between temptation to bait her and the knowledge that I cannot afford to pick a fight right now. So at least for the present, I try not to give offense. I smile, and accept her gifts (the latest was a gorgeous strapless gown of blackened silk from a very expensive and exclusive Katherian tailor), and try to control the urge to slap her across her pretty face. Perhaps I see a little too much of my own inner enchantress in Saida. The ability to control others is a seductive one, and it is easy to slip down a dark path. And yet she is still too entertaining to stay away from! Watching her give Skullcracker Headbang a dressing down the other day is a memory I will cherish.

Elgon and I seem to have forgiven each other. I ran into him on my way to the tailor's shop to pick up the dress Saida had given me. (A few alterations were necessary, as we aren't quite the same size and the gown is very fitted.) He accompanied me, which was convenient since I needed a second pair of eyes. It was ... nice to see him. I'm glad I haven't lost him as a friend yet.

[Carillon]

I cannot believe it--she was telling the truth. They're genuine. The Aeridinites confirmed it. Oh, my dear Laa'ra, I am so sorry I doubted you! And yet things are almost more confusing now than they were before we came here. Elohanna is gone with the second urn and I have no idea where she's taken it, and the Aeridinites are likely hunting her and watching me.

Let me go back a little, to when I met Elohanna in Spellgard. We went through the portal hand in hand, me carrying both packages under one arm. How odd to think that no one would guess their importance from their plain brown wrappings, and to a passerby we might appear two friends returning from a simple shopping trip or some such errand! The cold of North Point was shocking, as always. The sudden change in temperature reminds one of how powerful the magic of the portals is, I suppose. Luckily it was only a short walk from the portal to the temple.

They were waiting for us inside, and were most courteous. I was glad of Elohanna's presence. They knew why we were there, and it did not take long for them to authenticate the urns. Elohanna and I both held our breath while they confirmed it. I think I've been holding my breath since Laa'ra left them for me in some ways. Elohanna even teared up and became very emotional. I think the idea of Laa'ra's redemption strikes a chord with her for some reason, because she gave me the feather she possessed too. From my count, that leaves one more of Laa'ra's feathers out there somewhere. I have no idea who has it.

The Aeridinites conferred for a little while, which gave us a chance to talk things over. Elohanna knew the plans for the urns, but the Aeridinites, it seemed, objected. I had intended to hold onto both of them until I could actually watch their destruction, but the Aeridinites insisted I leave the first urn in their custody. It seems it is forbidden for me to watch the ceremony of destruction, but they promised to send word when it was done and Laa'ra did charge me with turning over the urn to the church of Aeridin. Reluctantly, I handed it over.

And then they demanded the second as well, and things started to get complicated. It happened very quickly. I've never considered the Aeridinites to be particularly threatening before, but suddenly there was a great deal of tension in the air and a guard or acolyte or someone bearing a morningstar approached us, and they told us that the urns had to be destroyed in tandem. They told us they had the third urn ... but how could that be, when even I could not find it? Surely Clarissa would not have handed it over to them? And why would they want to reunite them, when doing so would surely summon the demon contained within them? And why were they not destroyed in the first place, many years ago? The Aeridinites said they had been foolish, and had thought they might be able to use them as leverage or a weapon against Corath. Suddenly my mind was full of even more questions and doubts, and I made a decision based on a split second judgment.

I had doubted Laa'ra once, and decided I would not do so again. If she had left instructions to hand the second urn over to the church of Toran, then there must be a good reason behind it. I thrust the urn at Elohanna and bid her go, and mercifully she understood my meaning and used her tome to teleport home. My timing couldn't have been any nearer, either, for just in that instant the guard with the morningstar seized me. It was too late, though. Elohanna was gone, and the urn with her.

They let me go, after lecturing me and calling me foolish and selfish. I didn't care. I would rather be wrong about this than to allow the urns to fall into the wrong hands, or be used for some foul purpose. I stormed out of the temple and across the frozen ground to the sea, and shouted my frustration. The task is too hard! It was too much to charge me with, to charge any one person with! It is impossible to know who is telling the truth and who is lying.

I watched the temple for a while, hidden under a veiling illusion. Two groups of armed acolytes and priests left shortly after they released me. One went south, towards Willow's Weep and Dalanthar. The other went through the portal to Spellgard. It is easy to guess who and what they are searching for. I sent a letter, warning Elohanna that the Aeridinites were searching for her. I hope she receives it in time, and takes proper precautions.