Chapter 11

Local residence of Lady Anastasia Whiterune, Aithen, Eastern Realm, Andor.

Anastasia had made all of the preparations to close the house and return to Malkur. Rac-Nur's reconnaissance from the other night revealed nothing further. Oh sure, she knew for certain that there was a move against her house by Lucien Relan, but nothing firm that she could bring to the Guild Council or even to Gerard. She could, she supposed, deal with him directly and discreetly but wanted to leave that card unplayed until she had no other choice. In the interim she planned on keeping tabs on Master Relan and see what might develop. She had contracted several spies from the Assassins' Guild to watch him and relay anything of importance to her and left it at that.

With everything packed and ready, she bid goodbye to Alicia and entered her traveling coach. After ensuring the small train was ready to move out the coach driver flicked his reins and the week long journey from Aithen to Malkur began.

The Pious Satyr, Loudin, Western Realm, Andor.

Tristan and Graydon were up early and had already settled their bill before most of the patrons were even stirring. Tristan still needed to stop at the Thieves' Guild, since the events from the previous day prevented his visit then. Afterward they intended to head east toward Malkur and points beyond.

The local headquarters for the Thieves' Guild was in a rundown section of the lower city in an otherwise obscure old, dilapidated building. The door was weather-beaten and looked like it was ready to fall off, but looks could be deceiving. There were what appeared to be a couple of harmless winos sitting on the stone steps leading toward the door but they were anything but harmless and were just the first obstacle to gaining entrance, as Tristan knew.

When they arrived at the guild offices Tristan explained to Graydon that he would have to wait in the reception area while Tristan conducted his business in the back. They approached the visitor's entrance to the guild office and went inside. Graydon looked around and noted a small sitting area adjacent to a large desk where a middle-aged woman sat with a bored look on her face. Tristan pointed to a seat and waited for Graydon to sit down before approaching the desk and laying his token on the table. The woman slid it toward her and picked it up, all the time eyeing Graydon warily.

"Do not fret, he is with me," Tristan explained.

The woman nodded, left her desk, and approached a door behind her, where she knocked once, paused and then knocked twice more in quick succession, paused for a second time and rapped again with the back of her knuckles. The door slid open enough for the woman to slip through and then shut again behind her. A few moments later the door reopened, fully this time, and the woman stepped out and held it for Tristan. As Tristan passed through the threshold she handed his token back and closed the door behind him before returning to her desk and watched Graydon.

Fayne Darpick, Loudin's Guildmaster, watched Tristan enter his office and waved him toward a seat in front of the desk.

"I assume your latest assignment was concluded satisfactorily?" Fayne both asked and stated at the same time.

"It is complete but not entirely satisfactory," Tristan responded.

Fayne nodded, stood, and crossed the room toward a credenza, where a serving tray containing a crystal decanter and glasses rested.

"Something to drink first?" Fayne asked, looking back at Tristan.

Fayne picked up the tray and brought it back over to his desk and set it down. He set out two glasses and poured them half full from the amber liquid in the decanter. He passed one to Tristan, took the other, and sat down.

"To your continued health," Fayne toasted and sipped the liquid.

"And yours," Tristan replied and drank from his glass.

"Now that the pleasantries are over, what is wrong?" Fayne asked, leaning forward.

"I have two problems," Tristan replied and then went on to explain the contract problems and then the actions of Sweeney.

Fayne was concerned about both problems for basically the same reasons. If word got out that guild-sanctioned contracts were breakable without consequences then their biggest livelihood would take a hit. The issue with Sweeney could be dealt with at the local level but a customer reneging on a contract payment was serious enough to have to push it up to the main office. Fayne drafted a memo and sent it off by way of the guild's secret delivery system and engaged Tristan in benign chitchat while waiting for a response. The response was not what Tristan expected; the GrandMaster wished to interview Tristan directly before coming to any conclusions. Interview Tristan in Malkur. Fortunately that was the general direction he and Graydon were taking.

Fayne formulated a response and sent it off and wished Tristan good traveling speed. Tristan thanked him and left the office, gathered up Graydon and explained to him their side trip as they left the guild. It was still early enough in the day that they collected their horses and started out on their weeklong trip to Malkur.

Somewhere in the middle of the Great Desert, Andor.

Dunin slowly awoke to the noise of the wind whipping about and found himself hanging from the ceiling by his wrists. He slowly lifted his head and looked around at his surroundings. He was in a hut framed with wooden poles and covered in some type of animal skin. It was the noise of the wind whipping the animal hide flap over the opening that awoke him. He saw two other members of his guard unit, each hanging from the ceiling as well. He was naked, as were his cell mates, but noticed a pile of clothing and armor in a corner of the room. The last thing Dunin remembered was Kalaban's warning and then an explosion of pain at the base of his skull.

"Kalaban?" he mentally sent to his sword.

"My Lord!" the sword replied forcibly.

"Where are you? I thought I had lost you?"

"I am where you dropped me, My Lord, but hidden from prying eyes."

"Well, at least you were not taken from me, but I do not know how I am going to find you. I am being held prisoner somewhere."

"My Lord, we are sword and wielder; none could take me from you. Our bond cannot be broken that way. It can be broken only one of two ways; either you die and then I must return to my stone, or you no longer wish to be my wielder and you release me to my stone. As far as finding me, My Lord, you but only have to call me to you."

"That is going to be a little difficult," Dunin mentally explained. "I am currently chained to a ceiling by my wrists, which I can no longer feel let alone grasp anything."

"Have faith in me, My Lord," Kalaban replied. "Summon me, My Lord!"

"Kalaban, to me!" Dunin mentally exclaimed.

The sword appeared, hovering just in front of Dunin's face.

"Kalaban, release me from these chains and do not let me fall to the ground," Dunin commanded.

The sword's blade began to glow with a silver light and then silver lightning shot out from the blade and contacted the manacles, which began to glow with the same light as the blade. The manacles dissolved into nothingness and Dunin slowly sank to the sandy floor. Kalaban fed him small amounts of Eldritch to restore his strength and repair any damage from the blow to the head as well as from being chained to the ceiling. Dunin slowly regained feeling in his wrists and felt his arms being gently reset into their sockets. He slowly regained his feet and reached out, grasping the Runesword.

"Thank you, Kalaban," Dunin warmly sent to his sword. "Now, do you know where we are?"

"We are near ruins in the Great Desert, My Lord," the sword mentally replied.

Dunin, nodded and began rummaging through the pile of things in the corner, looking for his possessions. After finding his things he got dressed and slid Kalaban home, before looking to the welfare of his cell mates. The other guards had either died of their wounds or from being chained to the ceiling, either way it was a gruesome way to go. He had Kalaban remove their manacles and he reverently laid them out on the floor, arms crossed. He had just turned toward the hut's opening when the flap was pulled aside and two Sand People entered.

Dunin moved quickly, drawing his sword, and allowing the movement to be his opening attack. The sword came out of the scabbard at Dunin's left hip and arced upward slicing through the abdomen and chest of the attacker to Dunin's front left. The sword's momentum continued upward, cutting across the upper arm and throat of the second attacker. Both Sand People dropped to the ground dead. Dunin took a moment to determine if anyone was alerted to the noise and after waiting for someone to investigate started for the flap when he was stopped by Kalaban.

"My Lord, do you remember me telling you that I am the Crystal Sword?" Kalaban mentally asked. "And that nothing can hide from my gaze?"

"I remember what the Knight, Randolf told me," Dunin replied.

"There has not been a need before, but would you like to see what I see?" Kalaban asked.

Before Dunin could finish forming the mental 'yes' his vision blurred and then went grey with flashes of color all around him. The world was now shades of grey that moved and bombarded each other in a mixing swirling maelstrom of hues. Within that maelstrom were ribbons of silver emanating from the ground and where the two Sand People lay dead was blackness.

"The differing colors, are they significant?" Dunin mentally asked.

"Yes, different colors mean different things," the sword explained. "For example, the ribbons of silver you see are actually ribbons of Eldritch rising from the ground. You can tell something about a person you meet by their color, which represents the color of their soul. Look at yourself and tell me what you see."

Dunin looked down at his own reflection and saw a light shade of grey with ribbons of white intertwined. He looked where Kalaban would be and saw the sword's outline in silver and grey, mixing and pulsing, beating like a heart.

"If I understand correctly based on my colors, I am neutral with some goodness. Your colors tell me you are neutral and that you have access to Eldritch. Is that correct?"

"Yes, very good, My Lord."

"Thank you, Kalaban," he thought as his vision cleared and returned to normal. "Why did you not show me this before?"

"There was never a need before, My Lord," Kalaban explained. "In the academy you were always safe and there were more important things to learn. And there really was no time during the journey and then you were captured."

"So, there is real danger now?" Dunin asked.

"I imagine so, My Lord," Kalaban replied cryptically. "At least more than you have known previously. It is best to be on your guard going forward."

Dunin absently nodded and slowly pulled back the flap covering the opening and stared out into a swirling storm of sand. He quickly dropped the flap and stepped back and began wiping the sand from his eyes.

"Kalaban, can I use the sight when my eyes are closed?"

"Yes, My Lord," Kalaban replied. "However, the sight does not differentiate dimensional depth so you should tread carefully."

Again Dunin nodded absently and closed his eyes before pulling the flap back. Now his world was shades of grey as he could make out other huts scattered around the base of a large pyramid structure. Deep within the structure of grey was a beacon of emerald surrounded by silver.

"Kalaban, what is that light?" Dunin mentally asked, moving toward the base of the pyramid.

"What light, My Lord?"

"The emerald green surrounded by silver?"

"An elder color, My Lord, and nothing more may I say on that account."

Dunin stopped and looked down at his sword, shaking his head before continuing on toward the pyramid, when he reached it he stopped at its base. He turned and looked around for threats but saw none, apparently the same storm was keeping everyone at bay. Looking back at the pyramid he saw steps cut into the side of one face, rising toward a flat top and began to climb. His going was slow and treacherous, one false move or overstep and he would go crashing back down to the ground. He leaned in trying to keep the wind from plucking him off the side of the pyramid as he steadily climbed toward the summit.

Dunin finally reached the top of the pyramid, where the wind was at its strongest, and trying its best to sweep him off the top. He looked around and saw a silver-outlined rectangular shape in the grey drab stone toward the middle of the top and started heading toward it. After several painstaking moments of sheer terror of trying not to be swept away by the wind he reached the outline of a doorway in an otherwise blank stone wall.

"What does the silver mean, Kalaban?" Dunin asked. "Is it a secret opening?"

"A sealed opening, My Lord," the sword replied. "Sealed by runes of power."

"Can we get past it?" Dunin asked. "The wind is trying to knock me off and we need to get inside and out of the weather."

"You would have to know the runes, My Lord," the sword replied. "I cannot tell you them, unfortunately."

"Is there no other way?" Dunin asked dejectedly.

"If we knew who or what made the runes..." the sword said, and then paused.

"My Lord, I believe I am the author of this particular enchantment!" Kalaban exclaimed in astonishment.

Elfen encampment at the base of the 'Temple of the Evening Light', at the edge of the Duskwood Forest, Andor, the end of the Second Age.

The pavilion of Lord Daeron Tallond, last Elfen High Lord and Royal Consort to Her Royal Majesty, Queen Lara Elvenstone, was empty save himself and his two personal guards. The tent-like structure was identical to his private chambers in Duinmoor, the home city of the Elfen, and was tastefully appointed in whites and browns, the colors of his wife, the queen and his young daughter, the princess, and heir apparent.

One half of the room held several comfortable couches arranged in a semi-circle, facing a wall of portable bookshelves overflowing with books, tombs, scrolls, and manuscripts. There were tapestries on the adjoining walls to the book wall. The tapestries depicted wooden scenes of forest animals in harmony with Elfen males and females. Harmony was a long time ago.

The other half of the room was more utilitarian in form and function. A large table with maps spread out over its length and several straight-back chairs dominated the space. Lord Daeron was currently leaning over the table, brooding over the maps.

High Lord Daeron was tall for an Elfen male, at around 5 foot, 9 inches or so, almost 3 inches taller than the average. He was lean, bordering on gaunt, due mostly to the stress of the last few years. Dark brown hair cropped short and penetrating green eyes. He had the high diagonal slash of the eyebrow and sharp point of the ear that identified him as Elfen. He was dressed in leather breeches, dyed green and a light brown long sleeve tunic gathered at the waist by a silver belt. The hilt of an Andorian Longsword protruded from the scabbard buckled to the belt at his right hip. Various rings adorned his fingers, and finally a circlet of platinum across his forehead, signifying his status as Elfen royalty.

Lord Daeron was worried, and for good reason; a sizable Thangdaemon force was marching on Duskwood Forest and would reach the 'Temple of the Evening Light' by the morning. The temple was one of three remaining religious edifices from the previous age, and one of two controlled by the Elfen. The other, the 'Temple of the Morning Light', was located in the Forest of Arduin, many leagues to the southeast.

The remnants of Queen Lara Elvenstone's people were scattered, but a sizable force was located at the temple and would make their stand in the shadows of the old ruins of the Elders. They would most likely die just like the Guthard, centuries before, but unlike the ancients, who had faded into history, the Elfen would not, for there was a plan to save many of the Elfen, and Princess Beriwen was the key. She, the heir to the throne of Elfenkind, would be spared and with her the knowledge of the secret resting places of other Elfen, seeded throughout the Western Realm. Spared, if she could be counted on to control her wanton recklessness!

"My Lord?" one of his personal guard called out. "Lord Emerion and Princess Beriwen have returned and are waiting."

"Send them in, and send word that I wish a moment with the Queen," Lord Daeron replied.

The guard bowed his head and turned and held the flap as Lord Emerion, Commander of the Royal Guard, and Princess Beriwen, entered the chambers. The guard left the room and closed the door behind him.

Lord Emerion looked like the twin of High Lord Daeron, same build, eye, and hair color, even the same clothes. The similarities stopped there: where Daeron was gaunt from stress and age, Emerion had the fullness of youth and vitality, where Daeron had a single sword at his hip, Emerion sported two curved shortswords, favored by most Elfenkind, on each hip. There was no circlet of platinum, for Emerion was not of the royal family.

The female at his side was several inches shorter, long brown hair was simply bound at the nape of her neck. Soft grey eyes regarded her father with a mixture of concern and defiance. She was dressed in brown robes with a platinum belt across her waist, where a rapier hung from her left hip. A simple brown colored ring adorned the ring finger of her right hand. She too had a platinum circlet across the brow but had an added teardrop pearl dangling between her arched eyebrows.

"You were reckless and obstinate," the High Lord exclaimed, turning toward his visitors, "neither trait befitting a princess, let a lone a queen."

"Father, I was never in any serious danger," the Princess replied humbly, yet holding his gaze defiantly. She was standing to the left of the table and near the center of the room.

"And you!" the High Lord whirled around and pointed at the male standing next to his daughter, whose head was lowered. "How could you have allowed her to accompany you?"

"Father, it was my decision," the Princess interjected, trying to divert her father's wrath toward her. "How am I to lead our people if I have never been in battle."

"How can you lead our people if you are dead?!" the High Lord countered. "Beriwen, you are the last best hope of our people and yet you cavalierly throw yourself into unneeded danger."

"Father, I did what I deemed necessary," Beriwen replied defiantly. "I am a Witch of the Third Triad and am quite capable of taking care of myself!"

"You are the last hope for the continuation of our species, which is far more important!" Daeron countered. "Your mother has begun preparations for our travel, go to her and be of assistance!"

Princess Beriwen continued to hold his gaze, unflinchingly, not giving a finger's width and not leaving either. Her father regarded her coolly, waiting for her to submit to his command. Eventually she spun and left the throne room without a backward glance and closed the door behind her, ignoring the guards at the door, or the two that fell into step beside her.

"High Lord, she asked to come and I saw no reason to say no," Lord Emerion explained. "Princess Beriwen was telling the truth when she said she was never in any real danger. You must believe that I would ensure her safety."

"She is accountable for her actions, not you," Daeron replied. "Tell me what you have learned."

"Lady Mara is missing and presumed captured or dead," Lord Emerion replied. "It was definitely a trap and Lady Mara and her team walked right into it. We went back over the area and there was definitely the taint of a Thangdaemon Necromancer mixed with the residue of an Elfen Witch."

"This is grave news indeed," Daeron replied. "Without her the plan falls apart. Come we must talk to the Queen and let her know."

Emerion nodded and fell into step beside Daeron as they left the pavilion. Two guards stepped away from where they were standing, on either side of the opening, and flanked the pair as Daeron led the way across the temple grounds toward the Queen's Pavilion. Following the stone walkway, they approached another pavilion, also flanked by guards. As they approached, the guards came to attention and the one on the left reached back and knocked on the opening's frame. Both flaps were pulled aside as the entourage approached but only Lord Daeron and Lord Emerion entered. The High Lord's personal guards took up stations next to the guards that were already posted at the opening.

Queen Lara Elvenstone was in a pensive mood, pacing the floor back and forth. She could sense the twilight of her reign and more importantly the twilight of the Second Age, and with it the end of her people. She was the youngest of triplets, having been born mere moments after her two sisters, Mara and Nara. Singularly they were each very powerful, but as a triad they were the most powerful Eldritch users of their age.

In Elfen society the strongest Eldritch adepts were known as witches and warlocks. An Elfen Witch was a formidable foe when encountered singularly, but during battles the real power was when three witches worked together as a team in an unique formation that focused their individual powers through each other. That formation was known as a Triad and as triads go the three Elvenstone triplets were the most powerful. Multiple triads could also be achieved where each apex Witch focused the power to one of the base Witches of a different triad, thereby increasing their power exponentially. Triads were formed based on strength and ranked from one to infinity; therefore a Witch of the First Triad was said to be more powerful than say a Witch of the Fifth Triad and so on. As a Witch grew more powerful she could move up in rankings as long as an opening was available.