5

In the fanged cavern, far below Starloft, there had at last come a lull in the fighting. The supply of monsters and dark-spawn having been interrupted… and there being no demand, whatsoever… chuuls, gnolls and ifrits became rather thin on the ground. Those still alive were wounded and wary; more inclined to ambush than frontal assault.

Nalderick stood there with bloodied sword and simmering spell-hand, still hollowed by grief, but functional. Barely. Beside him, his sister had aged in the sudden manner of stressed elven children. No longer a chubby and petulant girl-child, she'd become taller. Slenderer. A young maiden with wickedly accurate sling and haunted green eyes. Their grandfather's abrupt, violent loss had torn her childhood away… but Derrick could spare no time at all for comfort.

Marlie was down, one leg close to ripped from its socket, and Filimar badly mauled. Both were bleeding like cups with the bottom knocked off, too deep in shock to cry out.

Solara did what she could, pouring life essence and muttering spells, but her manna had fallen to just about nothing. There wasn't much left she could do. Then Valerian's brother Lerendar came forward, or… someone did. The scruffy blond border-lord, big as a horse, returned Nalderick's sword. In a voice not his own, with features altered by something inside of him, the Tarandahl heir said,

"My thanks for the loan of your blade, Majesty. It was taken in haste, at great need, but wielded in honor. May the slight to your pride be forgiven, we pray."

Nalderick shifted his stance, forcing himself to stay calm. No longer merely a prince, he could show no confusion. Betray no uncertainty.

"Of course," he responded, trading Last-breath for Nightshade. Then, "I know not whom I address, but it seems that you possess magic. If there is aught you may do for these injured retainers of mine… I ask for your aid."

The person in Lerendar strengthened a bit, further altering the northerner's appearance. Now he was dark-haired, with flat, black, sea-elven eyes and swirling facial tattoos.

"I am Andorin Kalistiel, prince and lord of the veriest deeps. By avocation, a wandering bard, whose final journey ended in sorrow. This One… our friend… has given us hope for the first time in weary long cycles of death."

'Us' and 'our' seemed to indicate that Lerendar was housing a multitude, now, having seemingly picked up some friends in captivity. The possessing Kalistiel turned slightly to look at Marlie and Filimar, laid out on the ground and attended by desperate others. Their blood loss had mostly been stanched, but both were only a whispered last gasp from the end.

The sea-elf gestured for space.

"Stand away," Derrick ordered, causing his bloodied and tear-streaked companions to rise and step back. Of the Tabaxi, there was neither sign nor hair, but she was a rogue… a creature of shadow… and might have just gone after Valno. Lady Geldaherys had vanished, as well, Derrick noticed. No doubt for similar reasons. (He did not miss the absent druid, who hadn't made much of an impression in all the confusion.)

"Keep watch," he commanded, while setting a feeble and sputtering ward. Roreck, Vashtie and Sherlon saluted their teammate and emperor, then moved away to stand guard.

As for the minstrel, he created some sort of window in space with sigil and chant. Not a true portal, it opened onto a rocky, surf-pounded cliff. Thundering waves crashed and hissed without cease, glowing with tiny crustaceans and algae. At the scarp's base, eroding out of the rock, rose the great, curving ribs and spine of some truly monstrous beast. A dead world-serpent, from the sheer, massive size of those bones.

Nalderick smelled the wild, moonlit sea. Felt a gusting night wind. Saw… marvels. As the bard chanted on, strings of pure, glowing manna appeared at the tip of each rib, growing downward to anchor themselves to the dead titan's backbone.

A harp formed: great, mythic Llyroc itself… huge and almost purely magical; its strings shining with all of the ocean's deep colors, whether in moon-glow or sunlight or shimmering scale-flash. They hummed like ship's rigging, sounding their separate notes. All at once, the pounding of waves became rhythmic, and the cliff thrummed along in response.

Here in the cavern, his long hair stirred by cold sea-wind, Prince Andorin lifted his hands and began to make strumming motions. Out on that far-away cliffside, the great harp responded. Its strings flashed, their notes pure and heartbreaking, shaking the cavern, striking deep tones from stalactite and flow-stone.

The bard's chant turned into a song of longing and loneliness; of being the last of one's kind, calling for others that never responded.

'Land has arisen, currents are blocked

Stolen story; please report.

'No more, the voice of the deeps calleth forth…

They were gone, all of them, leaving just one alone in the deepest abyss, far below.

'The place of reunion lies silent and cold

'The final survivor, grown weary and old…

The song… Nalderick sensed it get something's attention. Something ancient and mighty beyond comprehension. The bard… with his music and words, he spoke to this Other. Asked its healing and help for those who sorrowed here in the cavern.

Maybe a coil slid. Maybe a head the size of a mountain shifted position a little. Possibly something arose. Certainly the ground trembled all over Karandun. Then a pulse of light flashed through the window, and with it came healing and life.

Nalderick put an arm around his sister, who'd started to cry again. All of them healed in body and life-force between one breath and the next. But the creature's great longing remained.

'No answer, no eggs, no leaping from darkness to bright, flashing day

'Gone, all gone away…

'Land has arisen where once was all sea

'And now there abides only me…

All elves can sing, and sing beautifully. It is one of their fey-gifts; a legacy of godly descent. Now, at the bard's signal, everyone joined in his song, imitating the call of friendship and happiness. Of better, more populous times. The monstrous being responded in kind. Pretending.

'The time for reunion is nigh

'Let pod assemble to frolic in love and dash at the sky…

'Together in heart, where once we were strong

'Remembered now only in song…

Long, slow call and response, back and forth, brought a measure of solace and peace to something so old, it defied understanding. In the light of its depthless sorrow, their own loss seemed… not trivial, but part of a greater whole. Just blue and black threads in some vast, moving picture.

The song ended at last. The great harp Llyroc unstrung, and the window dissolved into spray. Nalderick reached down to help Marlie and Filimar get to their feet, embracing them both, in turn. More had been healed than just bodies, though. While mourning his grandfather, Derrick gained strength to lead others in more than just drinking and sport.

Bowed his head, took a deep breath, and got on with it. He turned and went to the bard, next, meaning to thank him. Only, somebody else had gained possession; a sharp-featured, crafty fellow, dark-haired and pale-eyed, filled with laughter and guile. An arcane trickster, to be trusted about as far as one could prod him with a finger, Nalderick sensed… unless you were on the same side.

His narrow fox face had appeared off center, at the side of Lerendar's head, rather than forward. Most unsettling, though it did not seem to affect the rogue's vision. A gold coin flashed into being with a sudden bright chime. He caught it up with an elegant flourish, rolling it continually over the knuckles of his left hand. Sometimes it vanished, popping off to spin in midair. Smiling at Derrick, the trickster bowed.

"Greetings, Majesty," he said, sounding playful and mocking. "The songbird, his not-very-dryness, has departed the stage to seek rest, so needs must I handle arrangements. Not that you care, but I am Elmaris, another of This One's friends. How," he continued, stressing the syllable as his face drifted to center-head, "may we be of further assistance?"

Nalderick blinked. Here was sorcery of a sort that he would have rejected, before. Indeed, Solara had lit up her staff, while the others made signs against evil, hands at their various weapons. Yet… he sensed no harm at all to Lord Lerendar. No baleful intent from those who'd possessed him.

"I owe you great thanks, already," admitted the uncrowned emperor. "And now I would ask only advice, good Elmaris. In your opinion, should we go after Valno, or take his lordship, your… friend… back to safety in Starloft? Both plans would seem to have merit, on their face, but…"

"Doing either leaves weakness elsewhere," mused the rogue, cocking an eyebrow. More of his features and dress manifested, as he took firmer hold of the shared body. His ears were high and sharply pointed, betraying eladrin heritage. A red cloth was tied across his forehead, and he wore several cheap silver earrings. "Hmm… allow me a moment to consult, Majesty," said the trickster.

His pale blue eyes rolled completely inward, at that, leaving only their whites showing. Somebody muttered a curse. Nalderick gestured for silence, desiring no confrontation whatever with ghosts.

After a moment, the rogue's pale irises rolled back around again.

"Well, it seems we have an accord, miladies and gentlefolk," said Elmaris. "But I shall let others reveal it. The quiet one chooses not to present himself, yet, but This One is able to speak well enough. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Majesty… gentles…"

And then, with an ironic smile, the rogue bowed low, leaving his coin to spin in midair. It was Lerendar who rose up from the bow, only to find himself facing a spooked and abjuring audience. He seized the flashing coin and spelled it away. Next, clearing his throat, the possessed elf-lord folded both arms across his chest defensively, saying,

"My apologies, Your Majesty, if any of the others were overly blunt. The dead have little patience and not much to fear. If… you wish me to leave, I will go after Valerian with these trusted friends… but I will not send them away."

Someone else appeared very briefly, then. A grim, scarred warrior whose cloud-grey skin and gold eyes spoke of the Unseelie winter court. A ranger, by his suddenly evident clothing and gear. Ducking his head in a curt bow, he looked away, mumbling,

"This one will follow his brother. We shall help. My own advice has never meant aught to a soul before now, but… come along, if you will."

And then he was gone, leaving the Tarandahl lord back in control of himself. Oddly enough, it was Genevera who smoothed matters over. Slipping away from Nalderick, she came to stand before Lerendar.

"It must be wonderful," she ventured, "to always have friends and hear chatter inside. To not ever be left out, or alone."

The big, husky northerner nodded once, saying,

"Tough to do without, once you've got used to their company, Princess."

She smiled a little, for the first time since feeling her grandfather's end.

"I hope that they never leave you, and that you stay friends, forever," she whispered.

Nalderick reached out to place a hand on her shoulder.

"My sister speaks truly. Any friends tested through battle and hardship are welcome here, living or not." Then, speaking for the first time in imperial command voice, he said, "We go after Valerian, all of us. So may it be."