Forgotten Lore (Updated M-W-F)

Chapter 211

As the transformed Jakan leapt at her, Glori summoned her magic once more.

Her head and body still throbbed from the aftereffects of the druid’s blight, and her storehouse of magic had already been heavily depleted, but she threw everything she had left into another thunderwave. The sonic pulse smashed into the Jakan-creature, but this time instead of being driven back the altered druid pushed through it. Glori brought her lyre up reflexively as he lashed out with his beast-claws. The impact shattered one arm of the instrument and broke most of the strings. Glori was driven back hard against the bole of the tree, her arm stinging where the sharp claws had gashed her.

Jakan landed where she’d been standing and let out a feral growl of triumph. He started to step forward to finish her off, but suddenly flinched and let out a hiss of pain.

Glori turned her head to see that Brightbriar had somehow pulled himself up against the tree and had buried his arms into the mass of the ugly matter that coated the trunk. The Tender was hurt worse than Glori had first thought; his entire body from the belly down was soaked with blood, and the trail he had left behind stretched all the way over to one of the root masses at least fifteen paces away. She had no idea how he’d managed to come all that distance, or how he remained standing now.

Instinct had her looking up at the imprisoned form of Celestron. Nothing had changed as far as she could see, but she felt something, a stirring in the subtle veins of power that suffused this place.

Whatever Brightbriar was doing, Jakan clearly didn’t like it. He turned from Glori and started toward the dying Tender. But he managed barely three steps before Glori rushed up and stabbed him.

The corrupt druid screamed in pain and slashed out violently at the bard. But even as he started to turn he stumbled off-balance, and the claws passed harmlessly in front of Glori’s face. She looked down to see that fresh stalks of green had twined around the druid’s feet. For a moment a look of incredulity that looked strange on his altered features appeared on Jakan’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a visage of bestial fury. He lifted a hand and unleashed a spray of flickering motes that glittered in the faint light as they surged toward Glori. She recoiled instinctively from them, but there was nowhere she could go to escape the poison spray.

But in the instant before the druid’s attack struck, a sudden breeze brushed down from the canopy of the tree. It caught the motes and dispersed them, then vanished as quickly as it had come.

Jakan snarled something incomprehensible, then turned back toward Brightbriar. With an effort he tore himself free of the clinging growth and lurched forward again.

This time he made it only two steps before Glori stabbed him in the back again.

On the far side of the clearing Glori’s companions were completely unaware of the desperate struggle taking place at the tree, for they were still fighting for their lives. One of the tainted Tenders had been destroyed, but the other two were still pressing Kosk, Embrae, and Majerion hard, and the last awakened tree continued to take violent, powerful swings with its branches. All three of the defenders were seriously wounded, though Majerion was doing his best to channel healing spells into the monks. There was no more option to retreat; the wall of thorns was at their backs, and their foes had spread out to block any more attempts to escape.

So, they fought, and took a beating.

His ki drained, Kosk could no longer do anything but try to keep his adversary at bay. One half of the Tender’s face was a scorched mess from one of Embrae’s radiant blasts, but the creature still seemed able to absorb an incredible amount of punishment. Kosk had struck it with blows that would have broken multiple bones, had it been a normal man. But the thing continued to fight with almost as much speed and power as it had possessed at the start of the fight.

Kosk could hear Majerion strumming his lyre furiously behind him, but he dared not let his guard down even for an instant to see what he was doing. But suddenly the altered Tender just stopped, standing just out of reach.

A loud crash drew his attention over to his right. The awakened tree had fallen over backwards, nearly taking out the Tender facing Embrae. The creature was just standing there, much like the one opposite Kosk. The elf monk looked about as battered as he felt, but she quickly met his eyes and nodded.

Both attacked simultaneously, Embrae firing a radiant blast into her foe’s face while Kosk swept the legs of his opponent out from under it and then followed with a strike to the neck.

Glori couldn’t quite see what was happening on the other side of the grove, but she could tell that the intensity of the fighting was easing off. Hoping that it didn’t mean that her friends were all dead, she said, “Your grove is rejecting you, false druid.”

Jakan let out a feral screech and lunged again toward Brightbriar. The Tender hadn’t moved since he’d first contacted the corrupted mass cloaking the tree, but now Glori could see a haze of green shoots sticking up out of its substance. The gunk was starting to come apart at the edges, its outer layer cracking like shattered ice.

Glori tried to intercept the mad druid, but her battered body had taken too much punishment and her movements felt sluggish and awkward. But even as Jakan came within reach of his target a thick root rose up out of the ground at the base of the tree and twined around his torso. It lifted him off the ground as he swung in a wild fury, but his claws met only empty air. He let out a gasp of pain as it tightened its grasp.

Jakan lifted his arms to the sky. “Aid me, great spirit!” he cried.

But the only response came from Glori, who stepped into his line of sight and said, “You’re all out of help,” even as she drove the point of her sword into his throat.

Chapter 212

They were victorious, but the cost had been high.

Loriellan, Darethan, and Tenaille had been unconscious but alive, if barely in Loriellan’s case. Their magic depleted, the bards had been forced to resort to bandages and herbs to stabilize the crippled Rangers until they could be treated with magical healing.

Shreskra, however, was beyond help. They found her locked in a deadly embrace with the thing that had been Razelle, the Ranger leader’s sword buried in its torso.

Brightbriar, too, had been too far gone to save. When Glori had finally gotten to him he’d been alive, but barely. His hands were blackened wrecks where he had plunged them into the corruption covering the Eldan Tree, but there had been no regret on his face, and he’d even had a gentle smile on his face when he’d died.

They likewise found that Celestron was dead. His body was shrunken and abused. There was no evidence that he’d still been alive when they’d entered the grove, but Glori remembered the interventions in the last minutes of the battle against Jakan and the presence she’d felt. She only hoped that the man had found some kind of peace in the end.

They had no choice but to remain in the grove. The malevolent presence wrought by Jakan’s dark magic was gone, but the place still reeked of violence and death. But the thicket blocked exit, and they were all too battered to do anything but collapse in exhaustion. They finally carried the fallen Rangers to the shelter of one of the covered niches around the base of the tree. There were blankets there, and even some packets of preserved food that they shared around. The monks dug graves for their fallen. The altered Tenders and Jakan they burned in a shallow pit.

None of them had escaped injury, but they remained too wary of this place and its ghosts to let them all rest without keeping watch. Glori volunteered to take the first stint, and even Kosk was too battered to put up much of a protest.

They didn’t bother with a fire. The black tree hadn’t caught with all of the flames they’d been flinging about during the fight and its aftermath, but now that the battle was over they didn’t want to take any chances. The night was cool but not cold. It felt somehow like the tree itself had trapped the warmth of the day, keeping the worst of the chill at bay.

Glori took up a position just outside of their shelter, with the reassuring solidity of one of the root-banks at her back. She had brought the pieces of her lyre with her to attempt to fix with her mending spell. It was difficult to work the magic without the lyre to use as a focus, especially as exhausted as she was, but she bent her will to the task, humming softly to gather the power for the spell.

Her first few attempts were less than successful, but before she could try again Majerion came out of the shelter to join her. The elf looked awful, with one entire side of his face covered with a deep purple bruise. He walked with a noticeable limp and grimaced as he settled in beside her.

“You should get some rest,” she said.

“I intend to. Having some trouble doing that without a focus?”

She didn’t bother to deny it; he had always known whenever she’d been having difficulty related to something he was trying to teach her. Magic had been the hardest for her, which is why Majerion had eventually convinced her that the power lay in her instrument, and not herself.

He took out his lyre and handed it to her. “Try this,” he said.

She took the golden instrument with care. “This has potent magic,” she said. “Unlike mine,” she couldn’t help but add.

“I told you what I thought you needed to hear, to get through your block,” he said. “And it worked.”

It almost got Bredan killed, that false belief, she almost said, but she ultimately let it go. It wouldn’t accomplish anything to refight old battles, not on a night like this, she thought.

She strummed his lyre. As always, it was in perfect tune. The magic seemed almost eager to meet her call, and the broken pieces of her lyre knit together as she focused the energies of the spell upon it.

A soft melody accompanied her as she finished the working, and she looked over in surprise to see Majerion blowing softly on a set of wooden pipes. As he finished he said, “Remember these?”

“I remember,” Glori said. “I didn’t know you’d kept them. I’m surprised you can keep them on key.”

“Every musician should keep a backup instrument,” the elf said. He nodded toward Glori’s restored lyre. “You never know when you’re going to break a string.”

She handed the golden lyre back to him. He took it and propped it up against the root next to them.

“You did well today,” he finally said. “We would not have survived if you hadn’t challenged the druid like that.”

She couldn’t speak, but nodded and looked away. He didn’t press her, but put the hand-carved wooden pipes away. “So, it turns out Shreskra was the traitor,” he said. “I honestly thought it would be Brightbriar.”

“He sacrificed himself to save Celestron,” she said. “He couldn’t save him in the end, but in breaking the spell over the grove he saved us.”

It hadn’t been obvious at first what had happened, but in the aftermath of the fight they were able to put the pieces together. The blood on Shreskra’s hands and sword had been the final clue, as the tainted Tenders did not bleed. With both her and Brightbriar dead they would never know for sure what exactly had happened between them, or why she had done what she had done. But there was no doubt that she’d saved the lives of her Rangers. It could not balance her murder of the Tender, or the aid she’d given Jakan, but maybe it would affect the final tally for wherever her soul ended up.

“Did you think it was me?” he asked. “Maybe for a moment?”

“No,” she said. “My feelings toward you are… complicated, but I never thought you were evil.”

“Most people who are evil do not see themselves in those terms,” he said. “I am sure that Jakan thought that what he was doing was right. Protecting the Reserve against those who would use it for their own ends, or something like that.”

“He was mad,” Glori said. She thought back to his final cry for help. It was unfortunate that no one who knew the truth of what had happened here at survived. Nor had they found anything that could help Javerin.

She resisted the urge to reach up and touch her chest. The key was there, dangling on a silver chain under her tunic. It was the only thing they’d found on Jakan’s body. It was made out of a pale gray metal that tended to absorb rather than reflect light. She’d told Kosk that she had it, but hadn’t shared its existence with the others.

Majerion gave her a long look. “So, what happens now?” he asked.

“We go back. If Javerin’s still alive, we do what we can for her. Maybe take her back to Severon, if the elves can’t help her.”

“And you and I? Are we alright?”

She forced herself to look at him. “I am grateful for all that you have done for me,” she said.

He held her eyes for a long moment then nodded. Taking up his lyre, he headed back inside. “Good night, Glorianna.”

“Good night.”

Chapter 213

“They’re ready for you.”

Bredan looked up to see Darik standing in the open doorway of his room. The dwarf wore a new breastplate and looked resplendent in a fur-lined cloak and boots.

Bredan rose, a bit awkwardly due to the still-unfamiliar weight of his own armor. The dwarves had gifted him with a suit of plate armor, made of layered steel plates over a coat of fine mail links. He knew that the suit had been altered to fit him—there had not been enough time since his arrival to create a custom suit—yet such was the dwarves’ workmanship that it fit him like a second skin. They told him that it was infused with magic that would augment the protection that it provided.

“It suits you,” Darik said as they made their way out into the foyer that connected the sleeping rooms of their guest suite. Quellan and Xeeta were already there waiting for him. “Don’t you look imposing,” Xeeta said. She too had been provided with new garments fit precisely to her unusual figure, decorated with silver thread and buckles of polished electrum, while Quellan’s battered half-plate had been restored to an almost glowing finish.

“We’ve come a long way,” the cleric said as Darik escorted them out.

There were other guards in the outer hall who fell into formation around them as they set out into the complex. Bredan could forgive them the excess of caution. There had been no sign of the trolls since the failure of the attack on the temple, but the brazen nature of the assault had left the dwarves of Ironcrest jumpy and wary. But the camps in the tunnels outside the Darkfall Gate had been completely abandoned, without even a stray straggler to be found lurking in the deep passages.

They made their way up to the tier that held the Temple. Konstantin and Dergan were waiting for them there, along with another half-dozen armed guards. “Are you ready?” the Arreshian wizard asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Bredan replied.

They made their way into the Temple, with two of their escorts moving ahead to pull open the newly-restored doors. The interior had changed since the battle. The scattered pews had been stacked along the walls, and the bloodstains had all been cleared away. But the floor still sagged in the center where the sinkhole had been, and there was just a faint hint of something in the air, a hint of death that all of the cleaner and scrubbing could not fully erase.

In Akhenon’s quarters they found more guards waiting for them, along with a delegation of senior dwarves from the Council. The elders offered polite greetings to their guests, then withdrew to the back of the room to observe the proceedings.

In the absence of the high priest of Hosrenu, Goran Thunderhammer was present to supervise the ritual. Once Dergan had used a mechanical key to operate the preliminary locks the cleric stepped forward. Lifting his holy symbol, he made a number of passes over the round door of the vault. The steel began to glow, and after a minute they could all hear a series of loud metallic clicks. That was only the penultimate stage, as Dergan collected a second key from one of the elders that slid through a tiny slot deep into the substance of the door. When that one had been turned the thick portal began to swing open on recessed hinges. Goran immediately stepped through into the interior. Dergan started to follow him, but paused in the entry.

“No dwarf has passed through this opening in five hundred years,” the dwarf said. He allowed a small smile to crease his otherwise serious mien as he gestured their guests forward.

The interior of the vault was not spacious. There was a narrow central corridor that extended maybe fifteen feet in and two side-alcoves that were packed with armored niches. While there were a number of open shelves stacked with a variety of containers, most of the sub-vaults were warded by flat steel doors that themselves looked quite able to withstand determined assault. Dergan immediately stepped over to one of those and produced still another key, which he used to operate the lock. The door swung open to reveal a small compartment that contained a metal box maybe eight inches on a side. This one had only a simple latch, which the dwarf worked before holding the box open for the others to examine.

“The key,” Konstantin said. “It certainly looks impressive.”

The key was made of a metal that looked like gold, though it had a buff finish that absorbed light rather than reflected it. It was complex, the central shaft surrounded by a web of interlocked geometries that were intricate enough that one might look at it for hours without fully understanding how they fit together.

Dergan closed the box and offered it to Konstantin. “I would suggest that you keep it sealed in the box until you reach Severon,” he said. “The container is shielded against magical detection.”

“A wise precaution,” Konstantin said. He offered a bow as he tucked the box under his arm.

Goran, meanwhile, had returned from deeper in the vault carrying an armload of books. “These contain all of our lore regarding the Elderlore Libram,” he said. He offered the books to Quellan, who respectfully accepted them.

“Thank you again, Representative Steelshield,” Konstantin said.

Dergan gestured for them to return to the outer chamber, but as they started to exit he forestalled Bredan with a hand on his elbow. “A moment, if you will, Bredan,” he said.

The others noticed the exchange but let themselves be led out. “So, will you be supervising the Temple until another high priest is consecrated?” Quellan asked Goran as they departed.

Once they were beyond the heavy door Dergan took Bredan to the back of the vault, to a dusty corner where a heavy tarp covered a protruding shelf. “There is something I thought you should see,” the dwarf said portentously.

Bredan said nothing, he just waited as the dwarf took hold of the tarp and pulled it clear. Dergan looked at him to gauge his reaction.

“It makes sense, in hindsight,” Bredan said. He bent over the stone tablet and traced its outline with a finger, finally setting on the words etched into the surface.

Bredan Karras. Crosspath, they read.

“Do the elves also have a copy of the Revelations Tablet?” he asked.

“If they made one, it was done without our knowledge,” Dergan said. “We relied solely on our own resources to manufacture this one.”

“Do you have any idea why I was chosen?” Bredan asked.

“If you had asked me a few days ago, I would have said that I had no idea,” Dergan said. “But now… the idea that you may hold some special destiny makes sense to me.”

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” Bredan said.

The dwarf nodded, then led him back out into the outer room to rejoin the others.

All caught up again. Great epic fight at the glade!
Everyone level up?

Getting there! The group will level to 7th at the end of Book 8 (after the group is reunited again in Severon). I'll post some updated stats at the start of Book 9 (remind me if I forget).

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Chapter 214

A full dozen armored dwarves escorted them to the surface. This time they felt more like an honor guard, the companions less like prisoners, Bredan thought. Darik and Dergan walked in their midst. The pair would be accompanying them back to Severon as representatives of Ironcrest. That had been part of the concessions negotiated in exchange for yielding the dwarves’ piece of the shattered key, but Bredan remembered that Konstantin had been ready to yield that point even before they had arrived.

They paused at end of the entrance tunnel for one more look at Underhold. Quellan had been right before; the place was a wonder.

“I think that I am actually going to miss this place,” Xeeta said. “Despite everything that happened.”

“I concur, but I will be glad to see the others again,” Quellan said. He looked over at Konstantin, but the wizard looked distracted. The iron box was secure in his satchel, and he kept one hand resting on it despite all of the protections that surrounded them.

They were greeted by a gust of cold mountain air and bright morning sunshine when they exited the mountain via the huge doors to Hightown. Their horses were not waiting for them; they would not need them for the return journey. The dwarves required them to leave the city before Konstantin could initiate his teleportation circle, but they had cleared a space within sight of the upper town’s walls for them to use. They would be outside of the protection of the dwarvish city for only a few minutes.

Bredan watched the citizens of Hightown as they made their way through its streets. He wondered how much they knew of what had transpired below in recent days. Hightown was less than an hour’s trek from the Darkfall Gate, but somehow it felt like it was much further. Maybe it was the transition from the perpetual twilight and mechanical wonders of Underhold to the bright sunshine and cold mountain air of Hightown.

The gates in the outer wall ground open at their approach. Their escort left them there, so it was just the six members of their diminished party that continued out onto the edge of the broad stone shelf that supported Hightown. Bredan could see the road that they had traveled to get here, and the deep, wooded valley that spread out below. It felt like they had been gone for months instead of just a handful of days.

Darik took them to the space reserved for the wizard’s spellcasting. It was a cleared span of rock, maybe five paces across. Konstantin began his preparations, using chalk and ink to inscribe a round pattern upon the stone. Bredan had seen it before, so he looked back toward the city. He remembered thinking before how hard the place had looked with its sentries and the siege engines that had tracked their approach. Now it felt tentative, a fragile bulwark of civilization against the violent hordes that surrounded it.

“I have never left the boundaries of Ironcrest,” Darik said abruptly.

“It is the way of our people to resist change,” Dergan said to him. “But there are times when one must adapt to it or be destroyed.”

“Our peoples were allies once before,” Bredan said. “Not all change is bad.”

“A pity it takes a mysterious and dangerous threat to bring people together,” Xeeta said.

Dergan looked as though he might have responded, but the wizard had finished his preparations and urged them forward. Konstantin gathered them around the circle as he incanted the trigger words for his spell. A shimmering took hold in the air above the design. The wizard lifted his arm, and as it came down they all took a step forward into the pattern, and disappeared.

Just a heads-up to my readers that I will be putting Forgotten Lore on hiatus during November, during National Novel Writing Month. I am well ahead in the story at the moment, but I won't have time to dedicate to editing posts while working on my 50,000 word goal. This is my eighth consecutive year participating in NaNoWriMo. It's a great mechanism for would-be writers to motivate themselves to sit down at the computer and put words on the page. It doesn't matter if the output is rough, it's the practice that counts.

* * *

Chapter 215

It was a quiet group that took their leave of the Green Tower the next morning. The Rangers were restored to consciousness by the bards’ healing magic, although their spells ran out before their collective tally of wounds were treated. But worse than their physical wounds was the news that their commander had betrayed them. None of the Rangers visited the grave where the monks had interred Shreskra before they set out. Darethan had taken custody of her sword, but he carried it rolled up in a blanket and slung across his back, as if he was reluctant to come into direct contact with the weapon.

It was a bedraggled and bandaged group that finally gathered at the barrier thicket. Majerion summoned another wall of fire that blazed a path through the obstacle. The thick growth seemed to resist the flames, but finally a charred, ten-foot gap extended through the thicket.

The hilltop remained quiet as they made their way back to the ring of huge trees. It was almost as if it was eager to see them go. The companions did not break the stillness with idle chatter. They, too, were happy to leave this place behind them.

The journey back was unremarkable, but even without creatures trying to kill them it took them four full days to exit the Reserve. Tenaille stepped into Razelle’s position of scout, and even without Brightbriar’s guidance they were able to retrace their steps with only a few missteps. Darethan even managed to shoot a deer, which augmented their fading rations. They emerged from the forest exhausted, ragged, and emotionally drained, but intact.

They reached Easthaven to find a party of elves waiting for them, along with the magical carriage that would carry them back to Tal Nadesh. The Rangers, still not fully recovered from their ordeal, elected to stay behind. Glori did not press them.

They lingered only to wash up a bit and enjoy a hot meal. As they were preparing to depart Loriellan sought out Glori. “I wanted to apologize,” he said. “For failing you.”

“You didn’t,” Glori insisted. “What happened was not your fault.”

“She was one of us,” the elf said. “We all failed, because we were not willing to see the truth. She saved my life, at the end. But all I can think about is Razelle’s empty eyes on mine.”

“That wasn’t her,” Glori said.

“I know.” He held out the blanket that Glori knew held Shreskra’s sword. “I ask that you return this to Tal Nadesh,” he said. “It should go back to her family.”

“I will see that it is done,” Glori said, accepting the weapon. “Be well, Loriellan.”

The elf nodded and left.

The companions were eager to get back. The elves at Easthaven had little in the way of news except to say that Javerin had been alive when they had left Tal Nadesh. The road was just as bumpy as Glori remembered, yet somehow she was able to drift off. She slept through most of the ride, waking only when they slowed for the mid-way stop. It was already dark, yet the driver elected to press on once they had used the facilities and taken a brief meal of cold meat and fruit. The sky was cloudless and the moon was almost full, but it was still eerie riding through the night, the landscape passing by in a blur of shadows and mystery.

It was past midnight when the carriage finally slowed once more as they approached their final destination. They emerged from the passenger compartment stiff and weary in front of the same staging outpost they had used for their initial departure. It had been less than two weeks ago, Glori reminded herself. Lanterns that shone with a pale glow that echoed the moonlight hung from the corners of the structure, giving the whole area a sort of fey aura. She would not have been surprised to see pixies dancing on the night breeze or a unicorn waiting for them in the field behind the house.

She dismissed those fancies when she saw Lendelaine waiting for them on the porch of the house. Glori hurried over him. “Is Javerin all right?” she asked.

“She is well,” the elf said. “The thing inside her began to fade about five days ago. Once it released its grip, we were able to purge it from her body without harming her. She is still recovering in the city, but is eager to speak with you.”

“That’s good news,” Embrae said.

“You do not seem especially surprised about the timing of her recovery,” Lendelaine said.

“We have a lot to tell you,” Glori said.

Lendelaine nodded. “Come inside. We have prepared refreshments and beds. We can continue to the city in the morning.”

Lazybones said:

Just a heads-up to my readers that I will be putting Forgotten Lore on hiatus during November, during National Novel Writing Month. I am well ahead in the story at the moment, but I won't have time to dedicate to editing posts while working on my 50,000 word goal. This is my eighth consecutive year participating in NaNoWriMo. It's a great mechanism for would-be writers to motivate themselves to sit down at the computer and put words on the page. It doesn't matter if the output is rough, it's the practice that counts.

Click to expand...

Can we read what you've written? Or you polished and published it? Given your normal output, it hardly seems like you need that training

I have published all of my past NaNoWriMo books at Smashwords and the Kindle Store. I'm sure this year will be no different.

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Chapter 216

They spent another two days in Tal Nadesh. Most of that time was taken up in meetings with elvish officials. By the end of the second day Glori was entirely fed up with repeating her story, sometimes alone, and sometimes with her companions. The elves seemed intent on picking out every detail of their experience in the Reserve, even those that seemed trivial and unimportant. She almost lost her temper in the middle of an hour-long discussion of the trees and other plants they had seen during their journey.

She had been tense throughout the interviews, expecting a request to hand over the key fragment she’d taken from the druid grove. She’d briefed Javerin about it, but hadn’t revealed to the elves that she was carrying the artifact. Javerin had also confirmed that Bredan’s expedition had been successful, and they’d already returned to Severon with the dwarvish fragment of the key. Glori had even toyed with the idea of covertly slipping out of Tal Nadesh and teleporting back to Arresh at once, but the wizard had insisted that they follow protocol. Their victory over Jakan had won them a considerable amount of influence in the elvish kingdom, Javerin had insisted, and it would be foolish to throw that away via reckless action.

So Glori sat through the meetings, waiting for the elves to wander around to the core of the matter. But to her surprise, when Lendelaine finally did bring up the matter of the key, it was only to ask that he be permitted to accompany them to Severon to see it used.

“So much for assuming the Council is unaware of anything,” she said later to her companions. They had gathered for a private supper in their guest quarters, she and Embrae and Kosk. Javerin was still meeting with representatives of the Council at their headquarters.

“It is difficult for them,” Embrae explained. “It’s not our way to admit that we need help or to acknowledge that we were wrong.”

Glori, thinking of her last conversation with Majerion, nodded in understanding. She hadn’t seen her former mentor since they’d returned to Tal Nadesh. He’d been gone when they’d woken up the morning after their return from the Reserve, and while she’d kept an eye out for him he had not materialized anywhere during their series of meetings and debriefings.

“Did you find someone to hand that sword over to?” Kosk asked.

Glori nodded. “I spoke to an official who said he would deliver it to Shreskra’s kinfolk,” she said. “Apparently her family is from a town further south.”

“It will be difficult for them, to learn what happened,” Embrae said.

“I’d be surprised if they did learn the full truth,” Kosk said. “I got the impression that the Council will be keeping the details of what happened close to the vest.”

“I don’t suppose I can blame them,” Embrae said.

“I wish we knew who Jakan was working with,” Glori said. “The more I think about it, the less I believe that he worked this much havoc on his own.”

“He had sympathizers,” Kosk reminded her. “Elves like Shreskra, who believed in his crazy ideology of preserving the power of the Reserve against outsiders.”

“The Reserve does not belong to the King, or the Council, or even to the elvish people,” Embrae said. “I can only hope that they learn the lesson of what happens when you think like that.”

“You could help them learn that lesson,” Glori said.

“What?” the elf woman asked.

“You could stay here,” Glori said. “You had said that you wanted to be a Tender once. Well, that organization has been hollowed out, and could use some even-handed leadership.”

“You would do a good job of that,” Kosk said.

For a moment Embrae seemed flustered. “I… that’s not why I returned here,” she said.

“Just something to think about,” Glori said.

“I never thought I would say this, but I am actually looking forward to returning to that bloody filth-pot of a city,” Kosk said.

“It will be good to see the others again,” Glori said.

“I wonder if they had as much of a trial as we did,” Kosk said. “Did the wizard tell you anything more?”

“Only that they had completed their mission and were back in Severon,” Glori said. “And that they were all alive and well. From what I understood their means of sending messages back and forth doesn’t allow for a lot of details.”

“Yet another thing they didn’t care to share with us,” Kosk said. “We should keep our eyes open.”

“Do you expect treachery from the Apernium?” Embrae asked.

Kosk shook his head. “I just think Bredan had the right idea as far as they are concerned,” he said. “Those wizards have their own agenda, but we were the ones who brought the pieces of the keys back. We’re as much as part of this as they are.”

Chapter 217

The next morning Glori, Embrae, Kosk, and Javerin made their way back across the lushly landscaped greenery of Tal Nadesh back to the teleportation circle on the edge of the city. Lendelaine accompanied them, but the rest of their escort—a small company of elvish soldiers—remained discreetly back.

The day was mild, even pleasant, with the softest breeze that brought the scents of the blooming flowers to them as they walked. Glori was again distracted, having looked for Majerion again that morning without success. Apparently, he was going to make another of his abrupt departures, she thought. It was foolish to have expected more; she certainly had not been ambiguous in their last detailed conversation back at the druid’s grove. She still was not quite certain what she had intended to accomplish here, at least in terms of settling her unresolved feelings toward her former mentor.

As they approached the walled enclosure that contained the teleportation circle, they could see an elf waiting for them. It was Kaesla, the young woman who had kept an eye on them—now that they were leaving, Glori could offer that rather than the less charitable spied—after their initial arrival in Tal Nadesh. She carried a small package that she brought over to Glori.

“Lord Majerion left this for you,” she said. Glori blinked at that; it was the first time she’d heard his name accompanied by a title. She shot a question over at Lendelaine. “I do apologize,” he said.

“For what?” she asked, examining the parcel. It was nicely wrapped in layers of thick linen, but there was no note or other message upon it. As she held it she felt a sudden sharp suspicion that caused her heart to pound in anticipation.

“Ah. I thought he would have told you,” the elf said, distracting her from the package.

“Told us what?” Kosk asked, interjecting himself into the exchange.

Lendelaine looked as though he would have preferred it if he hadn’t spoken. “The Council asked Majerion to accompany you to the Reserve,” he said. “They had… suspicions that the attack upon the Ambassador was part of a broader effort to undermine the government in Tal Nadesh, and that the recent problems in the Reserve might be connected.”

“And of course, no one thought it worthwhile to let us know any of this,” Kosk growled.

“You yourselves were something of an unknown quantity,” Lendelaine admitted. “The Council felt that they needed a trusted agent directly on the ground.”

Glori glanced over at Javerin. The wizard did not seem surprised, so she had either known or been told after the fact. “No, he did not tell me,” she said to Lendelaine. She tore open the parcel. The bright morning sunlight shone on the brilliant golden lines of Majerion’s Cli Lyre. She knew the details of its form almost as much as she knew her own instrument. “Why would he give this to me?” she whispered.

She hadn’t meant it as an actual question, but Lendelaine said, “I will say that Majerion did not have to be pressured to join the expedition. Once he found out the details, he was eager to be a part of it.”

For a moment Glori thought about giving the lyre back, but then she strummed her fingers across the strings. As always, it was perfectly tuned.

“There’s nothing more we have to do here,” she said to Javerin. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter 218

Glori was ready for the disorientation, but as with every other time she had experienced teleportation it still managed to leave her weak and dazed. When her vision finally cleared she saw that she was standing with the others in the familiar confines of the teleportation circle in the Apernium, the rich décor clashing with the simple natural beauty of the elvish site.

There were two men waiting for them. As the travelers stepped clear of the circle they came forward to greet them. One wore the long robes of a member of the Apernium, while the other was clad in the livery of the King. The latter offered a crisp bow and presented himself to Lendelaine, saying, “Ambassador, welcome to Severon. King Dangren is pleased to have a member of the Advisory Council of Tal Nadesh as a guest in our fair city again. In the King’s own words, ‘It is a sadness for two good friends to remain so far apart.’”

Lendelaine offered some lush diplomatic reply, but Glori barely heard him. Her eyes were on the far side of the room, where a familiar figure was rising from a bench near the entry. Her grin matched his as he came forward to enfold her in a warm embrace.

“I missed you,” Glori said.

“Right back at you,” Bredan replied. He drew back to see that the diplomats were all watching them, but his smile only grew wider as he reached out to clasp Kosk’s arm.

“Where are Quellan and Xeeta?” Glori asked.

“Quellan went to the temple complex this morning,” Bredan said. “Xeeta was back at the inn when I left her. I wouldn’t be here myself, except that I happened to run into Gavelmaster Ostrick, who mentioned that you were coming back today.”

“We need to report in, see that our guest is settled, and secure the fragment of the key in the vault,” Javerin said sternly. But on seeing the look on Glori’s face the wizard relented. “I suppose you will need a brief interval to recover. I will send a messenger to the inn when the Circle is ready to debrief you.”

Bredan clapped Glori on the arm. “Come on, I’ll stand you all a round.”

“I should get back to the monastery,” Embrae said.

“You are welcome to join us,” Kosk said.

“Yes, please do come,” Glori said.

The elf woman shook her head. She glanced over at the members of the diplomatic party but did not quite meet Lendelaine’s eyes. “I… I need some time to consider… things,” she said. “Wizard Javerin, I will return tomorrow to meet with your superiors.”

“Thank you, Adept Kelandras,” Javerin said with a respectful bow. “Please extend our gratitude to your abbot.”

The monk left, followed by the wizard and the other members of the diplomatic party. When they were alone again, Glori asked, “The others are well, then?”

Bredan nodded. “There were a few tough stretches when it wasn’t clear we would all make it, but everything turned out mostly all right. Let’s go back to the inn. I’ve got a few stories to tell, and I’ll wager you do as well.”

“It’ll take more than one round to get through our tale,” Kosk said. “But lead on.”