13

With the reader's indulgence, a series of brief vignettes:

In Karellon, High Lord Arvendahl quickly set about restoring order. His way, and only in certain quarters. The Imperial Palace and noble sector, absolutely. Those regions that served them directly, apace. Lowtown and Underfall could go hang, though; of less interest to Lord Falcoridan than the peace and contentment of his dwarven conscripts, which was to say: not at all.

Sister Constant attempted to meet with the high-elf, but all of her efforts failed. He was too busy, too riven with grief and far too well guarded to speak with a simple, wandering paladin.

"Elves," she muttered, glowering into the campfire, back at the mage-trial arena. "Present company excepted, of course," Nadia added, with a nod at Meliara. She was seated by a small blaze with her brothers-in-Oberyn Humble and Arnulf, along with the hooded oracle. The place had got crowded with refugees, but there was still the odd nook between pylons where one could rest and refresh.

In one such spot they shared bread, cheese and beer, conversing between bites as the food passed around. The firelight glowed on the rose and gold beads woven into Nadia's hair as she shook her head, fretting,

"He's sworn to rebuild the City, and that's what he's going to do. On top of us all, if he has to. The dwarves are near open revolt, the way he's been driving them."

Brother Humble took a long pull at their shared flask, then spelled it full again, using 'Nourish the Multitudes'. Simple paladin courtesy which cost little manna, so long as his motive wasn't a selfish one.

"There will be curses for mortar and vengeance for stones, whenever one forces labor," rumbled the orc, whose name had been Vorbol, back in another, more savage life. "This Arvendahl will live to regret his choices… but worse, so will we."

They had marshaled the remaining city guards to patrol Lowtown, but Underfall would permit no truncheons or badges. Only the paladins, so long as they minded their business.

Villem stretched their bread and cheese again, a thing that he did every time the food dropped below half. This might have been the dark, fragrant loaf's third round, and he'd got it years ago, on first setting out from the Constellate Needle.

"I think that the townsfolk can mostly rebuild on their own," he said, "provided we keep chaos, monsters and theft to a minimum. Anyhow, I doubt that His Lordship knows what a back-alley is, much less how to construct one. Let the main City arise, and Lowtown will bubble on up through the cracks." Then, rising with a clatter of chain mail and creaking of leather, "It is my turn at patrol, and you two need rest. In Oberyn's name…"

"To his glory," finished Humble and Constant, rising to see their friend off. They remained at the fire, but Meliara followed Villem a while, wishing not yet to part.

Looking around at the arena, which still reflected Starloft, along with an underhill Sidhe, the seer asked,

"This is your home? The fey-dwelling?" She'd thrown back her hood, away from the others. Was golden, lovely and (just a bit) smiling.

Villem smiled back, taking her hand in his own.

"It is," he admitted. Then, more soberly, "I was too young to remember much… but I think we were traveling. Then bandits attacked. At least, I recall fire and screaming… and my mother, pushing me into a hole at the base of a tree. I don't remember her name, or my father's face, but she cried out for 'Arnulf' as the bandits were dragging her off."

"So you chose that as your paladin name, rather than picking some uplifting virtue?" guessed the beautiful elf.

Villem nodded.

"I stayed in that hollow, not daring to weep or make any sound, until the fires died out and birds began pecking the bodies. Hunger, I think, drove me forth… and somehow I found my way to Underhill Sidhe."

"Where the fey brought you up," said Meliara, squeezing his hand. The paladin gave her a serious glance, then gestured complexly, murmuring,

"Oberyn's peace."

All at once, everything faded but the Underhill setting, which took on sudden life and reality; blue-painted dome, magic lighting, and all.

"It's a bit more than that," he said to the oracle, assured of their privacy. "More than just fey, I mean. This is the home of the Seven Gods Who Decree… or, what remains of them. Great Ur-Shan is not even ruins now, and its gods have passed beyond legend or myth, so the Seven have faded. They are in mortal danger, My Lady, for there is a monster out there that hunts and feeds upon un-worshiped gods. This predator must never find them."

"Who… what… would have power enough to consume even a diminished immortal?" wondered Meliara, shaking her head.

"I do not know, but the monster is real, My Lady, and it would feast upon those who rescued and raised me, were it ever to find them. Thus, I serve Lord Oberyn, worship the Seven in private and keep their secret… but I think they will like you."

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Meliara glanced around the Sidhe's interior, at shadowy figures, beautiful plants and the laughing, scampering young of many races.

"I would be honored to meet and help defend your family, Villem," she told him. "The eye sees no death in this place. Not for a long time to come."

The young, brown-haired paladin sagged momentarily, visibly losing a great deal of tension. Then, maintaining their privacy, he leaned forward, placed his hands on her shoulders, and kissed the elf's forehead. Meant to, at least. She tipped her head up and rose on her toes, instead, meeting his mouth with her own.

"My people are often formal and difficult," she said, once that warm and lingering kiss at last ended. "But I see, and I know what matters in truth. I offer no betrothal, for that takes too much time. Only my heart, if you would have it, Paladin."

"If…?" he half-laughed, pulling her into a sudden embrace. "Who says no to the sun or the moon? To beauty and love? I do not deserve what you offer… but I promise to cherish it, all the days of my life."

Meliara nestled into his arms, head on his chest, murmuring,

"I, too… for all of mine." A very grave vow, for an elf. And so, the matter between them was settled, for all the days that remained.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Over in Snowmont, Lady Alfea was too weak, too frail to be moved. Happy, though, with Pudgy licking first her face, then the baby's.

"So you're the one who's been causing all this fuss," whispered Alfea, kissing her newly born child. "Hullo, Little Sweet. I'm so glad to finally meet you."

Arien fetched pillows and blankets, while a townswoman helped guide the baby's head to its mother's breast. It was far too early to name the child, a healthy and beautiful girl, but in Alfea's heart, the infant was already Kara.

"He'll come back," she promised blurrily, drifting away into spell-gentled sleep. "And he'll love you as much as I do, Sweetling... I know he will... and we'll go... we'll go home."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the high-elven camp of another plane, meanwhile, Lady Alyanara woke with a start. Opening her eyes and half-rising, she found herself on her own bed, with Galadin at her side on a low, cushioned stool. He'd been holding her hand, she sensed; drifting in rest while giving her power.

Two mage glows alone lit the pavilion's interior, spelled to emit soothing, warm light and a comforting hum. As Alyanara sat up, drawing her knees to her chest beneath silken covers, those hovering mage glows brightened.

"My Lord," she exclaimed; anxious, remembering. "What has…"

"Peace," said her husband, coming back to himself. "All is…improving. Reston reports a number of mortal refugees, but no monsters at all, and Filimar is well on his way to Snowmont. Valerian and his lady maintain the perimeter, while I…" he paused a moment to summon herb tea, toast and jam. "I am here, caring for you."

She accepted the food and drink with murmured thanks. Said, between bites,

"I must hurry, Milord. I have sworn to help our other grandson, who is in terrible need."

"And you shall do so, Milady, directly your strength has returned. You came near to draining yourself completely, yesterday."

She sensed that not just the healer, but Galadin himself had fed her with lifeforce and magic, keeping her this side of darkness. And so, feeling tender and shy, Alyanara began to tell him of her trip to the fey-wilds, and all that had chanced there. Most of the telling netted mere grunts or brief nods, but…

"This Kratar… no doubt a rude, backward fellow. Low, uncouth and ugly."

Alyanar shook her head, no, smiling over her teacup.

"Not at all, Milord. He was quite charming, for a Quetzali… but my errand was urgent, and I have a husband whom it seems that I very much love."

The part of her which was Alyanara-who-weeps wanted nothing more than to stare at Galadin. Hold his hand, hear his voice.

"Anyhow," she continued, as His Lordship spelled the remains of her meal away, "These bird-folk mate in the air. I am told that the act is most stimulating, but terribly dangerous."

She scooted over as Galadin got into the bed beside her. Taking his lady into his arms, he said,

"Rest. Heal, and then we shall go to the aid of our wandering grandson, together. And if this Kratar pops up, we shall have words, he and I."

Alyanara stifled a laugh.

"What if I simply promise to host fewer banquets?" she offered, drawing manna as fast as was safe for all those around her.

"Tempting," Galadin admitted, holding her close. "But force of arms may be needed, as well as great magic. Sometimes, Milady, nothing beats steel."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the network of caves below Starloft, Nalderick's group followed Lady Solara. She'd been using a seeker spell to hunt for Valerian, but its glowing arrow wavered and spun a great deal, pointing first this way, then that.

They fetched up at last in a vast, natural gallery, pillared with columns of flowstone. Here, the sorceress paused, for her arrow got hopelessly muddled; vibrating as though trying to point in some direction that didn't exist. Then,

"Out of your reach, is he? How unfortunate," came a voice from the darkness. Lord Orrin, her former employer, sounding disturbingly changed.

The sorceress lit up the end of her staff, casting light for a full acre above and to every side. Saw nothing but pillars of stone and a few drifting bats.

"Where are you?" she demanded, adding, "Show yourself, Orrin, if you be not an enemy."

The others… their Majesties, Filimar, Lerendar and the court-ball team… had gathered back to back, weapons drawn, facing outward.

"An enemy…?" mused Orrin's voice, coming from many directions at once. "How not, when all the world has been so, to me? No one, not one has stood by me. Not even my wife. And now, I simply don't care. I am offered much more than just Snowmont, and Sherazedan's latest puppets are doomed, just like all the others."

Sensing danger, Lerendar tried to shove Nalderick and Genevera inside of the circle. Too late. With a sudden cracking and grinding noise, something massive and dark peeled itself off of the nearest stone pillar. A cave troll, bursting with muscle and vacuous, unthinking hate.

Two more of the hideous creatures ground themselves out of the stonework, armed with great clubs and boulder-sized fists. Orrin's voice laughed scornfully, coming from one monster after another.

"I have new powers now," he gloated. "Friends whose strength you cannot imagine!"

"Not ogres," muttered Nalderick, summoning magic to deal with the oncoming trolls. "They're not ogres."

For all of their size, the hulking stone brutes were terribly fast, able to move through the ground itself as though it were water or smoke. One of them did so, dropping down and away to rise from below, directly beneath the embattled elves; scattering them.

It leapt from the ground with an earth-shaking bellow, seizing the prince. Nalderick twisted in its grip, firing mage bolts and lightning at the creature's dull eyes. The other two sank down to course through the ground, next, cutting straight for Genevera.

Flustered, caught by surprise, Solara just stared as the troll holding His Majesty clenched its great fist. As the monster wrenched Nalderick's arm, twisting it out of its socket, she did the only thing she could think of; burnt up her own body to add force to a final great spell, then launched herself into the cave troll, possessing it.

"Go!" she roared, dropping a bloodied and vomiting prince onto Filimar. "I will slow them! Get him away, quickly!"

Then, turning, Solara threw herself at the other two cave trolls, fighting for cover and time.