Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)

[Lazybones]

Post 1 of 2:

* * * * *

Chapter 411

“What have you done with him!” Dana exclaimed, shouting at the still-inscrutable creature standing over the empty bier.

The creature’s response was to start waving all six of its arms, two still holding the odd metal sphere, in a complex weave of gestures. That was enough for the rest of the companions, who unleashed an all-out attack upon it. Dannel’s first shot caught it solidly on the shoulder, but it showed no pain, or in fact any reaction at all, continuing its arcane perambulations. The warriors charged at it, but even as they rushed across the chamber floor, further smearing the ruined summoning circle with the heavy tread of their boots, the spellweaver took a step back and conjured another wall of force that partitioned itself and the back fraction of the chamber apart from the rest, where the companions stood.

The two dwarves and the genasi came to an abrupt halt before the translucent barrier. On the far side, they could see the creature already moving its many hands in more spellcasting gestures. Beorna smashed her adamantine sword against the barrier, but no one was surprised when the blade merely rebounded without effect.

“We’ve got to get through!” Arun exclaimed. The warriors turned to Cal, but they already knew that the gnome generally only carried a single disintegrate spell.

Cal’s brows furrowed in a mix of consternation and intense concentration. The creature’s ability to rapid-cast spells was impressive, and without even knowing the full span of its arsenal he sensed that they were in for a tough fight. But he also noticed something else, which he quickly pointed out to his companions.

“Above!” he shouted, pointing toward the ceiling. And indeed they could all see what the gnome had detected, that this time the wall of force did not extend all the way to the ceiling above, twenty feet above the thick stone blocks of the floor. Whether by intent or accident, the enemy caster had left a gap of about four feet at the top of its wall.

Dana quickly cast a fly spell, leaping into the air even as the spellweaver protected itself with a barrage of mirror images and the surging nimbus of blue flame of a fire shield spell. Both spells were cast nearly simultaneously, and the odd creature immediately launched into a new wave of spells, its many hands conducting the somatic components of multiple spells at once. Still it had not spoken, and it had to be triggering the vocal component of its magic through some alternative, elder lore that was unique to its race.

Mole’s thoughts were along those lines as she watched the creature from behind one of the pillars in the back of the room. Forgotten by everyone, including (hopefully) the spellweaver, she’d slipped around the side of the room to the rear moments before it had brought up its second wall of force. Now, essentially alone with it, she steeled herself to do what had to be done.

With a normal wizard, she would have tried to time her attack to spoil its latest spell. But this… thing seemed to be drawing magic in a constant surge, without interruption. She was invisible, of course, and she trusted to that and her exceptional talents for stealth to keep her from being detected as she came up behind it. It was facing half-away from her, so it shouldn’t be too difficult

Except that as soon as she stepped from cover, the creature immediately turned, fixing her with those dark, emotionless eyes.

The hard way, then, she thought, running straight at it. The creature seemed to be ignoring her, continuing its spellcasting. She’d intended to spring up into a surprise leap at the end of her charge, catching it off guard, but on her last stride her foot landed on a broken piece of crockery, throwing off her charge. She still managed to recover and came out of her flip with her knife stabbing at its throat, but instead of puncturing its larynx as she’d intended, the blade merely scratched its chest just below the left shoulder. She kicked off it, landing back on her feet five feet away. Her entire arm felt numb, and her dagger was covered with frost, the backblast from striking its fire shield.

Should have used your crossbow! she said to herself, knowing that she’d probably just earned something very unpleasant from the alien caster.

But the spellweaver merely continued infusing itself with magic.

“Mole, get back!” Dana urged, as she cleared the top of the wall of force. The gnome backflipped out of the path of the priestess’s flame strike, which spiraled down out from above into the spellweaver. The creature merely absorbed the force of the divine blast, its shield protecting it from some of the damage. As the flames cleared, revealing the scorched but still hale body of the creature, it made an intricate gesture with four of its hands, directing a spell at its attacker.

“Ooof!” Dana grunted, as a huge transparent hand appeared from thin air and slammed into her, catching her up and driving her across the room. The hand was far stronger than she was, and she was pushed roughly backward until she was slammed roughly against the wall in the nearest corner, more than twenty feet away, and no longer in the line of sight of the spellweaver. She struggled against the hand, but it simply held here there, resisting her every effort to break free.

Dannel could only watch as his companions engaged the creature. “If only I still had my magic slippers!” he exclaimed.

He’d only been speaking to himself, but Cal, standing adjacent, heard him. “If mobility is what you need, I can assist,” the gnome said. “Eat this!” he commanded, presenting a small wrapping from his pouch. The elf took it, observing that it moved slightly. He was familiar with the spider climb spell, so he did as was directed, while Cal infused magic into him.

As Dannel ran off toward the nearest wall close to the translucent barrier, Cal walked forward to join the warriors. They had confronted the barrier with their own tactics. Arun had spent some moments in concentration, summoning his celestial mount, the giant lizard Clinger. The creature appeared and instantly divined the needs of its master, waiting for the paladin to strap himself in before it started toward the nearest wall. Beorna, meanwhile, had called upon the power of Helm to enlarge herself, doubling her size to just over eight feet tall. She quickly grabbed Lok, lifting him toward the top of the wall.

“Gods, man, you are heavy!” she grunted, even her augmented strength barely enough to lift the genasi—or more exactly, the incredible weight of his arms and armor. Lok tossed his shield aside, but even with Beorna’s boost, the top of the wall was still several feet above his reach.

Mole was relieved that she’d been spared an attack, especially after seeing what it had done to Dana, but at the same time she felt a bit insulted that it was simply ignoring her. But why not? Without being able to sneak attack, her little weapons just weren’t very effective; and it didn’t look like it was going to fall for any of her feints or special moves.

Of course, it didn’t know about all her surprises, she thought, reaching into her bag of tricks. She threw the little furry ball through the creature’s feet, and as it grew into a creature—a big wolf, this time—she moved forward to flank it.

Cal, meanwhile, reached out to touch Beorna’s leg, intending to teleport both her and Lok with him to the far side of the wall of force. But the spellweaver lifted off the ground, avoiding Mole’s clever plan as it flew up to the ceiling, close to its conjured barrier. The maneuver opened it to Dannel’s line of fire, and the elf immediately let fly with an arrow that drew a violet gash across one of its forearms.

But the spellweaver survived the hit, and unleashed its own surprise: a horrid wilting.

The spell had a devastating effect, sucking moisture from the bodies of the heroes. The potency of the spellweaver’s magic was incredible, and only Beorna was able to resist it, using the mettle granted her by Helm’s patronage to avoid the power of the spell. Dannel went down, gasping as his desiccated lungs struggled to absorb air, and Cal likewise crumpled in a shivering heap. Clinger, halfway up the wall, collapsed, dropping Arun painfully to the ground, the paladin likewise severely affected. Only Mole, by virtue of being on the far side of the wall of force, escaped the effect of the spell.

Lok had avoided the worst of the spell through his considerable fortitude, but his skin looked stretched over his bones as he looked down at Beorna. Even with Beorna’s boost, the spellweaver was still a good eight feet above him. “Hurl me up!” he shouted.

Beorna nodded, although she could barely lift the man, let alone utilize him as a projectile. But she focused her will, drawing upon the strength of Helm to infuse her muscles with potency, and with a roar literally pushed the genasi up toward the enemy.

The spellweaver drew back from its magical rampart, but not fast enough as the genasi’s free left hand closed upon the top of the barrier. Lok’s strength and the impetus from Beorna’s push carried him up and over, hanging there just long enough for him to bring his axe down in a deadly arc that coincided with the exact center of the spellweaver’s skull. There was a reverberation that echoed through the chamber, as the axe unleashed its thundering power upon impact.

Fifteen feet below, Mole had to get out of the way in a hurry, before the bloody carcass of the spellweaver landed with a heavy splat at her feet.

 

[Lazybones]

And the epilogue:

* * * * *

Chapter 412

The sky above was a blasted expanse of ugly reds and sickly browns, the landscape below an equally mottled collection of malevolent color and hostile terrain. Occasionally flashes would shatter the landscape across a far horizon, yet it never seemed to actually rain. Rain would have been welcome, something to cleanse this horrid scenery. Foul odors assailed the nostrils of any traveler, and the only music that carried over the wind was the screams of suffering and harsh laughter evoked at the suffering of others. Signs of organized settlement were few and far between, mostly ugly citadels atop isolated bluffs, and fortresses ringed with high battlements surmounted by spikes and tangles of sharp wire.

This was Carceri, the Prison Plane, a place of suffering and blight.

Benzan trudged through a mire that clung to his boots with each step, releasing his foot only reluctantly with a sickly slurping sound. He still carried the limp figure of Embril Aloustinai in his arms, and he was careful to keep her trailing robe clear of the mud that seemed to coat every exposed surface in this place.

After a time, he came to a small rise, and found a fairly flat stretch of ground covered by sharp tufts of red grass. Spreading his cloak upon the ground, he carefully laid his burden down upon it. He ran his hands over her body—not lasciviously, but with purpose, finding a gleaming gem nestled carefully in the folds of her garment.

He took up the gem, and looked at it. In the ruddy light it seemed to gleam with a crimson tint like fresh blood. The light flickered slightly, as if it were a candle’s flame frozen in the mineral lattice of the stone.

He smiled.

“You shall be the tool that earns the final freedom of my Master,” he said. “Graz’zt wants you badly, oh, yes, he does…”

He laughed, a sinister laugh that wasn’t his own. Placing the gem in his pouch, he bent down and picked up the woman again, and started out once more across the blasted landscape of Carceri.


THE END OF “STRIKE ON SHATTERHORN”

COMING SOON: ASYLUM

 

[Elemental]

“You shall be the tool that earns the final freedom of my Master,” he said. “Graz’zt wants you badly, oh, yes, he does…”

He laughed, a sinister laugh that wasn’t his own. Placing the gem in his pouch, he bent down and picked up the woman again, and started out once more across the blasted landscape of Carceri.
[/QUOTE]

And now, Smiley Theatre--

 

[Neverwinter Knight]

Hey Lazybones, what a finish, what an epilogue! I was offline for a while but finally had the chance to finish the Travellers - great story, IMHO! Tell me, did you make (m)any corrections to the beginning of the story when you were finished or did it just fit like this?

I guess the babe Embril is too insane to realize that you don't make deals with Graz'zt... Anyway, when are you gonna start posting Asylum (or are you on vacation)?

 

[Lazybones]

Hey Lazybones, what a finish, what an epilogue! I was offline for a while but finally had the chance to finish the Travellers - great story, IMHO! Tell me, did you make (m)any corrections to the beginning of the story when you were finished or did it just fit like this?

Glad you enjoyed it. I made a few edits to the story, but nothing major. I'd say the compiled version is 99.9% identical to the original threads that I posted here a few years back.

I guess the babe Embril is too insane to realize that you don't make deals with Graz'zt... Anyway, when are you gonna start posting Asylum (or are you on vacation)?

I just got offered a chance to teach a summer night course at a local community college, on top of my regular 8-5 job, so it looks like my writing time is pretty much gone at least through mid-August. I do have a fair amount of Asylum done, but I'm going to switch to a M-W-F posting schedule for now, and may have to cut it back further to once or twice a week, depending on how the summer develops.

* * * * *

The Shackled City

Book XI: “Asylum”


Chapter 413

Dana Ilgarten walked through the long grass, the night wind blowing her hair and her cloak out behind her as she walked. Fat drops of rain struck her face, cold, hard. Mud squished between her toes; this rain was only the last of a series of storms that had struck the region, and more would be coming, if what her senses told her on the wind were true.

She was clad only in the long silvery sheen of her mooncloak, and carried no weapon or other gear, other than the milky white icon at her throat, the moon mote that, like the cloak, was born of the sacred moonfire of Selûne. It was cold here, far colder than it had been in the south, and it would not be unheard of for snow to come with one of the later storms. She had warded herself against the cold, but even so barely noticed the weather, so immersed she was in her own thoughts and feelings.

On this rainy night, it was as if she was utterly alone in the world.

That was not true, she knew. This world was full of living things, many of which wanted to hurt her. And there were other worlds that touched this one as well, places of darkness and horror and blight. In many ways she was a fool to be here, alone, vulnerable. She should have remained in her quarters, secure within the radius of Cal’s private sanctum. Hiding under her bed, perhaps.

She spat out a curse, one of the ones she’d learned from Benzan. Self-pity was not becoming. But nor could her anger at herself obviate the great rent she felt inside herself, a pain that nothing could fill.

She came to a squat crag that jutted out from the meadow, little more than a collection of boulders that had probably sat here for generations, absorbing sun, wind, and rain with equal equanimity. It was a place she knew well. Moss grew on the ancient stones, and mud slicked everything in sight, but she did not hesitate, scaling the boulders to the small flat space atop the tor, fifteen feet above the waving grass below.

Here the full force of the storm battered her, as if indignant that this puny mortal creature would dare to challenge its rights here. No, it seemed to say, in each gust of wind, each gust of rain, you belong in a shelter, beside a warm fire or under a thick quilt. Begone from this place! You do not belong!

Dana ignored the wind and the rain. She knelt, welcoming the hardness of the stone beneath her knees. It helped to distract her from the pain.

But her mind could not be so easily distracted. It traveled back, over a conversation earlier that day.

”Dana, are you all right?”

She looked up at the warm eyes that were filled with concern. The feeling there was not easy to find, surrounded by such a harsh exterior, but Dana had known Lok for many years, knew him perhaps as well as anyone, better even than his own people.

She could not speak. She turned away, looking down at the objects she’d laid down in the matted grass at her feet.

Lok recognized them as her bracers, the ones that she’d worn into battles for years now, the ones she’d worn earlier that day, on their second invasion of Shatterhorn. Blessed of the goddess, sacred product of the moonfire, like her cloak and amulet.

“I do not understand.”

Of course you do not, my friend… how can you know, my failure… Go away, she willed, not wanting to expose her frame before her friend. He would not judge her but that did not matter; she had already judged herself, and despite all her vaunted wisdom, despite knowing that she was wrong, it did not help.

He was not going away. He was standing there, looking down at her… It would have been easier with Cal. But the gnome was gone, seeking aid for their cause.

She looked up at Lok, forced herself to meet those deep gray eyes.

“I could have saved him,” she said.

“We did everything we could,” Lok replied.

“No. I could have saved him,” she repeated. With these,” she added, kicking the bracers with a foot, as if the inanimate metal could feel her ire. “They grant the power to dimension door. I should have gone right through the wall of force, not waited for Cal, not turned to him… I should have gone right through, and stopped her from taking him…”

Lok shook his head. Lok, always the quiet one, despite his deadly presence on the battlefield, quiet… who nevertheless saw so much. “That spell-creature would have killed you. We would not have been able to help you in time, you would have been alone on the far side of the wall, and it would have killed you. It would have accomplished nothing.”

She knew the words to be true, her gods-damned wisdom saw that, saw even without that infernal periapt that sharpened her will, turned her insight into a dagger that cut both ways. But knowing the truth and knowing the truth could be different things…

She shook and quivered, weak, crying, mewling with the pain that she could not hide, not from her closest friends, not from herself. First Delem… then her father… now, the man that she loved, taken from her.

She would fight. She would rage and those who had taken him would know fear. Yes, that would come. But for now, as she felt rough, strong arms encircle her, she knew that for now, the best thing would be to let the grief out.

Now she was alone, in the wind and the rain. The others would have come… Cal would have insisted, in fact. She’d made the decision for them when she’d dimension doored out of the camp, using the bracers that had betrayed her before. Or had she betrayed them? The goddess provided the power, but it was up to the wearer to use them properly, to further Her goals.

The night was dark, with little moonlight making its way through the storm clouds banking the sky above. It did not matter; Selûne was there, and her follower could feel Her presence.

Dana slid out of the cloak, exposed herself to the storm. Her skin seemed pale white, too white, in the faint light that penetrated the storm. The sigil at her throat seemed to glow with its own opalescent fire, the light of the moon reflected here upon the earth.

She opened her mind. It was not easy; even with decades of prayer, reaching the necessary equilibrium did not come easily this night. But her patron offered solace as well as power, and finally she succumbed to that familiar embrace.

On some nights she had remained in that blissful exchange for almost the entire night, stirring only with the setting of the moon in advance of the rising of the new day’s sun. But this night she had a purpose, and Selûne granted the power she needed.

Completing her prayers, she opened her mind once more, and began the casting of a powerful spell.

 

[Guillaume]

I have quite enjoyed both the Traveller and the Shackled Series, and said so before. I want to congratulate you LB on some great writing.

With that said, I would like to voice a twinge of disapointment. To me, as a reader, The Sackled City Series was the story of Zenna, Mole, Arun and Dannel. Although I was happy to see the Travellers come to the rescue, I always felt that it was the story of the Heroes of Cauldron that would be continuing. Alas, it has not panned out. More and more, the story has turned to the Travellers and their dealings with the Evil of the Cagewrights. I feel like suddenly the Heroes of Cauldron have become secondary caracters. It reads to me like a superhero coming into the last act and making it all right.

I keep on reading. I keep on enjoying seeing the Shackled City put into words. It's just a little less what I was enjoying.

Hope this makes sense...

 

[Neverwinter Knight]

I can see what you mean, although for me, it was the other way around. When I was about halfway through the Shackled City, I started the Travellers SH and only finished it recently. That's why I think it's great to continue with more of Benzan & Co.

Also, do you really think the Heros of Cauldron would have had the power to finish this series? They would have had need of several superheros IMHO, so instead of bringing in new characters, the Travellers were a great choice. Also, remember that it was Mole and Arun (and Cal, ok) who were the last characters standing after the heavy fight at the Lucky Monkey.

And finally, I think it is very credible to the SH that even a powerful group like this does not have the immediate resources to bring back Zenna and Jenya.


I hope you can keep up with the Mo, We, Fr schedule, Lazybones!

 

[Lazybones]

That was my thinking as well. While I greatly enjoy writing the Heroes of Cauldron, once I had decided to kill off Zenna I knew that the remaining group would be way understrength for the rest of the series. With the multiple deaths in recent outings, Dannel and Mole are well below strength, and Hodge has become almost a non-factor due to the high-powered magic being thrown around. Even though I'd added Beorna, she too was rather below-strength due to death and having missed part of the adventure.

I will continue to try to emphasize the character development of the Heroes and not shift the focus too heavily over to the Travelers. In hindsight I probably erred by allowing them to come in at ECL 17 and not ECL 16, since the Heroes were running a bit behind level-wise. But the Travelers are a bit under-strength as well, in particular due to the multiclassing choices of the spellcasters (decisions that I explained in the other story threads).

And what's coming in Asylum is going to test even the combined group.

 

[Guillaume]

While I approve of the choice and understand it, it is the focus of the story that I have a problem with. The last few posts have been about the Travellers (the «disapperance of Benzan, the spell of Dana, etc.). It is that shift of focus I have a problem with. I feel that it clashes with the rest of the story.

That said, I look forward to the rest of the story. Don't let my arm-chair editing get to you ! I wouldn't be able to write half of a quarter of an eigth as well as you did for both the Travellers and the Shackled City.

I'll shut up now...

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 414

Despite his darkvision, Arun was nevertheless startled when Dana appeared out of the storm, approximately an hour later. Each thought that the other looked tired and disheveled; neither had gotten much sleep in the last twenty-four hours. Neither spoke, the paladin escorting the priestess into the fortified tower that they’d chosen as their new base of operations before returning to his vigil. The templar, Beorna, was still likely atop the tower, the two dwarves alert for another assault from their enemies.

Following the disaster at the Lucky Monkey, they’d shifted their headquarters to a small rural community in the Western Heartlands, at a crossroads in the sparsely-populated region known as the Fields of the Dead. This site was an ideal target for the teleport spells of Cal and Dana, for it had been their home for many years. The settlement had been founded by Cal and Lok following their return from the Abyss almost twenty years ago, and since then had grown into a considerable town with over a thousand permanent residents. The region was still rather unsettled, and so a twenty foot high wall of real stone surrounded the place, with watchers who patrolled its length at all times of day and night alert to dangers that might threaten from without. A slender tower fifty feet tall was the most distinctive feature. The structure looked sleek and almost unnatural, as if crafted by a sculptor from a single block of stone. In some ways it had; urdunnir from Lok’s home in the North had participated in its construction. It was commonly known as “Travelers’ Rest,” although the town proper was named Ember Vale.

Both the paladin and Beorna had expressed concern about “abandoning” the refugees from Cauldron. But Cal had responded with irrefutable logic; their enemies were interested primarily in seeking them out, not with inflicting further harm on the unfortunate survivors of the volcano city. The victims at The Lucky Monkey had been collateral damage, and their presence at the refugee camp would only have encouraged additional attacks.

Of course, even here, over a thousand miles from Cauldron, they were not wholly secure. But even before they had come to the aid of the people of the shackled city the Travelers had earned a number of enemies, and in the course of the construction of the tower both Cal and Dana had infused it with a number of magical protections. The place was secure against scrying and other forms of magical detection, and was further hallowed with an enchantment that prevented magical teleportation into the citadel. One of the improvements made by the urdunnir was the excavation of a secure chamber deep under the place, lined with many feet of solid stone, just outside of the hallow’s effect. This place, secured from the remainder of the stronghold both by heavy mundane portals and numerous glyphs and wards, allowed the veteran adventurers to enter and exit the place conveniently by magical means as necessary.

Dana stepped through the foyer—also fortified against assault—and into the richly apportioned great room that took up much of the first floor of the tower. The place was maybe thirty feet square, but it had the look of an intimate study. Plush armchairs lined the walls adjacent to numerous bookshelves packed with volumes. A small fireplace added a merry glow to the place, augmented by a half-dozen brass lamps that contained continual flames, now shuttered in the deep of the night. A worn table that had clearly seen many years of use occupied the center of the room; a forgotten tea service still lay upon it at one end.

There was one occupant in the chamber. Dannel was sitting in one of the chairs near the fire, one of Cal’s books laid open in his lap. The elf had not unshuttered the lamps, using only the firelight to read. The flames shone on his narrow features, glimmering in the dark eyes that looked up as she entered.

“Have Cal and Mole returned?” she asked.

“No,” Dannel said, rising. He raised an eyebrow at her disheveled, soaked condition, the streaks of mud covering her feet, legs, and hands. He brought a blanket from the back of a nearby chair and laid it over her as she sat down in the chair on the far side of the hearth. “I imagine that they remained overnight, so that Cal could recover his teleportation spells.”

Dana nodded, expecting as much. Despite the burning need to act that filled her, the chair seemed to embrace her, luring her into sleep. Shaking her head, she forced herself to remain alert. Thoughts of Benzan, and what might be happening to him even now, helped her in that regard. She doubted if sleep would be welcome, right now, with the dreams that would surely come.

Dannel noticed her agitation. “What did you find out?”

Dana did not look up from watching the fire. “He is being held at the asylum of Skullrot, on the prison plane of Carceri.”

“Do you know the location of this place?”

Dana shook her head, suddenly weary again. At that moment she looked older than he’d ever seen her, the elf thought. “I attempted a commune, immediately after discerning his location. I wasn’t able to get much information. Apparently there is some sort of magical veil over the place, clouding its location, and any information about anyone or anything within. I could learn nothing about Benzan, except that he is there.”

“Hidden even from the gods?”

“I suspect that whatever enchantment wards the place is more masking my spell than their knowledge,” she admitted. “Cal would know better, I think.”

“What were you able to learn?”

She did then finally look up at him. “That Adimarchus is exerting a greater influence outside his prison.”

“It’s clear that he was driving the Cagewrights, and their madness, at least,” the elf noted.

“I asked if he would be able to escape his bondage, if we did nothing to intervene.”

“And?”

“There was a long pause. At first I thought that the spell had been broken… but then I got my answer. Yes.”

“Predicting the future is never a sure business, even for the gods,” Dannel reminded her.

“Were your researches able to offer any insight?” Dana asked, indicating the small stack of books on the end table beside Dannel’s chair.

Dannel nodded. “I wasn’t able to find many references to Adimarchus in the literature on the planes.” The elf indicated the handful of books from Cal’s library that he’d been reading. “He was an angel that led a revolt in Celestia, as Wiejeron told us. The sources are unclear as to his status in the hierarchy of the greater fiends, but he was likely not short of the status of prince, and may have even been analogous to a demigod. He is said to have ruled an Abyssal layer, but was betrayed by one he thought to be an ally.”

“And this layer is Occipitus.”

“Indeed.”

“If Adimarchus does escape, then your friend there may be in trouble.”

“Sending him a message may be difficult. I don’t even know how we’d get back there. Kaurophon brought us over, on our last visit.”

“You’d need to obtain the right focus, in order to facilitate a plane shift. But we have a more immediate destination.”

Dannel nodded. “Skullrot, on Carceri. But how will we get there?”

“Cal believes that the amulet that we took from the drow is a planar transportation device, keyed to Carceri. I can use it as a focus for my plane shift, and bring up to eight of us across. As for finding Skullrot… we’ll have to search once we arrive. Someone there has to know where it is located.”

“So just grab a passing fiend, and beat the information out of it?”

Her gaze turned icy. “We will find a way. We have no other options. If you prefer, you can return to Cauldron, and we will handle this matter.”

“That is not what I meant, Dana. We are together, all of us… Mole, Arun… likely Beorna as well, although I have not spoken to her on the matter. But you saved us, saved Cauldron from destruction, and prevented a planar apocalypse. We will not forget Benzan, do not fear.”

Dana lowered her head, rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hand. “I know, Dannel. You have been a great help… I… I know that you have suffered a loss as well.”

“I loved her,” Dannel said simply.

She reached out and took his hand. “I know.”

After a long moment, he spoke again. “Do you think that we will find Adimarchus there as well?”

“I do not know. Benzan is there, and that is all I need to know.”

“You need to get some rest, Dana. I can prepare a draught, if you like, to help you sleep.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’m not a total fool, Dannel.”

“No one who knew you at all would say that about you.”

She rose, overcoming the lure of the chair through sheer effort of will. Pulling her still-damp cloak around her body, she started toward the spiral stair that led up to the quarters higher in the tower.

“We’ll get him back, Dana.”

She looked back at him and managed a sad smile, then walked up the stairs, leaving the elf alone with a troubled look on his face.