Great, big edit! (Not sure how I missed that, the first time through...)

6

All of a sudden, everything around them slowed to a vegetal crawl. Valerian glowed, sparking at the edges like he'd been cut from a different, badly-fit piece of reality. Hearing Gildyr's sudden confession, his expression turned utterly bleak, hard and suspicious. As though he'd expected betrayal and meant to do something about it.

Meanwhile, the rumbling sound of that oncoming dragon stretched and slowed to the throbbing groan of a land-quake. Over it, barely discernible unless one was elvish, Valerian spoke.

"Explain," he demanded, hand at the hilt of his dueling sword. As Arondyr had predicted, days ago by a campfire, the proud high-elf was very much ready to kill.

Gildyr sucked in a ragged lungful of syrupy air. It hurt to breathe, was tough to speak, but Grey Fang and all of his kin depended on Gildyr to sway the mind and cold heart of a furious elf-lord.

Forcing speech, the druid said,

"Lord Lerendar is a prisoner in the goblin tunnels, but not of the goblins, themselves. He is being held by…"

"Gnolls," interrupted the high-elf, mist grey eyes never leaving the druid's face. "The vermin have summoned dark powers and opened themselves to this evil by slaying a child." Then, "I have learnt all this lately, from Firelord, but… you knew all along, and said nothing?"

The elf-lord's glow was becoming painful to look at; his features hard to make out.

The time-slowed others were turning in Val's direction, now, moving like sleepwalkers trapped in dense mud. With only scant moments left to convince Valerian, Gildyr stuck to the unvarnished truth.

"Milord, there was never a chance to tell you! When have you ever stopped to actually listen?" A risk, and a cold-water shock, but effective.

Valerian broke off his murderous stare. He looked aside, breathing heavily, like one struggling to maintain self-control. After a moment, the high-elf inclined his blond head slightly, admitting,

"Your words are just, but I had cause, Druid. I avoided speaking because I intended leaving you, the Tabaxi and Mirielle in some safe, sheltered haven. I did not wish to expose a child, a noble lady and a wandering beggar to further risk. But… had I known the true situation back in Snowmont, this entire disastrous plane-shift might have been avoided."

Gildyr shook his head, broadening his stance to ride out a series of slow moving ground swells.

"There are very few genuine accidents in life, Milord. Our coming here brought me back to Karus… gave Mirielle the strength of her other self and escape from servitude… and your god a chance to show you all that has happened. Hard medicine burns going down, Valerian, but it cures, all the same. Would you truly have rather not seen your lost…"

Too far, that. The elf-lord held up a blocking hand, literally stopping Gildyr's next words in his throat with a flaring sigil.

"Speak not of my family, Druid," he snapped. "Or of what my coming here has cost them. They shall be picking up the pieces long after I am gone. It may be that I can use the Starloft transport disk to return to this place and help." His shoulders sagged, briefly. "...though I might not be very welcome, after all this."

Then Valerian straightened again, resuming that hard, icy stare.

"But my brother lives, and he is no longer a captive. He has escaped the gnolls, and wanders their tunnels, no doubt causing tremendous slaughter, for he is a warrior of great renown."

News to Gildyr, who began to worry for Grey Fang and the others. Had Valerian's god shown him nothing of them?

By this time, that low, deep bass rumble had become a city-shattering roar. The temperature catapulted, oven-like even through slow time. Cloud stone evaporated outside, fizzing to nothing across the wide plaza. The dragon was coming.

"Onto the sigil," ordered Valerian, jerking his head at the platform, which Kalisandra had ponderously started to leap from.

Gildyr had much more to say, but possibly now wasn't the best time for further chat. Nodding assent, he scrambled up like a squirrel, seizing the ranger's arm and pulling her back onto the sigil with bone-wrenching force.

Next turned to offer a hand to Valerian. Only, the elf-lord had misty-stepped back to that glowing hot vent. Unbothered by high temperature, Val spoke some final spell at the dragon, then returned to the transport disk, backlit by raging flame. In that finely-minced sliver of time, Valerian gestured, and all of them jolted violently out of place here…

…to reappear there, with a flash like the sunrise and a deep, belling chime. It was not a pleasant transition, leaving Gildyr wanting to vomit. On the bright side, he was no longer hot, and time had returned to normal, letting him finally draw a deep breath.

The Tabaxi hacked up something fibrous and moist with a series of guttural coughs, while Cap'n blearily clung to her fur, gasping aloud.

Mirielle wobbled over to Valerian, who steadied the child with a hand to her trembling shoulder. As for the ranger, Kalisandra had turned her face away, hiding any discomfort she felt from the others. Not a soft woman, at all.

They'd been moved, Gildyr saw, but this could not be Starloft. At least, not the one that he knew of. This place was a titanic and long-empty ruin; an abode of spiders and owls, with no sign of elvish habitation.

Long shafts of pale sunlight slanted from giant windows to light up a floor the size of a prosperous farm. Wind sighed through massive doors warped open by time and disuse. Brown, withered vines wound through everything, their dropped leaves having all but buried the transport disk. A constant cold breeze rattled and shoved at the dead vegetation, making a skittery sound. Other than that, and the newcomers' small motions and mutters, there was no noise at all, and no dragon.

Val, Gildyr noticed, did not seem surprised by their surroundings. In fact, something close to relief crossed the high-elf's stern face.

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"An uninhabited half-plane," Valerian explained. "Better for planning and safer for everyone else, should the wyrm attempt to follow our leap."

Gildyr rubbed at his dryad arm with the original meat one; a habit of his when confused or uncertain. Shuffling through the dust and droppings of centuries, he made his way to the edge of the disk and leapt down.

"This is the safe haven you had in mind?" he asked Valerian, glancing around at a chamber so vast, there were clouds at its ceiling.

"There is no one here to attack you," said the high-elf, moving slowly, with the distracted air of a youngster sorting through multiple, badly-packed faerie pockets. "You will be safe enough, until I return. If I do not, then the three of you can surely manage to reset the transport sigil and try again. I've left an instruction globe."

By this time, Salem had got herself back together. Leaping from the disk, she landed lightly beside Val, saying,

"I choose to remain with you, Mrowr. My curse will permit nothing else." Lashing her tail, ears flattened, the Tabaxi went on. "I am ill fortune made flesh, Mage-knight. But how that tide of disaster flows may be aimed. Controlled. I am compelled to stay with you by forces that will not be gainsaid. Only, I do not yet know where to strike. Thus far, I have eliminated two shape-shifters and an orc who pursued you, but that surely is not all my task. Do not look so surprised, Mrowr. I am capable of great stealth, and take pride that you never noticed their presence or deaths."

Kalisandra shot him a mutinous glance, coming over to growl something similar.

"You already know. I got myself into this mire, I'll find my way out. Frost Maiden…" her voice broke slightly with joy, pain, or both. "My lady will help."

(A genuine relief, as nobody wanted to face the Bane of Hunters again, on opposite sides of the game board. Once was more than enough.)

Mirielle simply seized Valerian's hand, looked up into his face and said,

"You promised."

"I did," he admitted, letting the child keep hold. The Tarandahl long sword glowed at his back in apparent approval, lending Gildyr some hope for his cause. Val sighed.

"Very well, then, since no one is content to remain here in peace, receive the gifts I have prepared. Milady," he bowed to the Tabaxi and held out a spell globe. "This transport charm will take you to Serrio's fair, from anywhere at all in our home plane. There, you may attempt to bargain for Lionel… Tristan, that is."

She accepted the shimmering globe with forward-pricked ears and a rumbling purr, saying,

"I bargain for nothing. Cap'n and I shall steal back Clan Master Tristan… perhaps with your aid, Mage-knight."

Valerian bowed again, hand at his heart.

"If I live and my quest permits, Milady, you may count me among your fellow conspirators." At which Cap'n mimed wild applause.

Her sleek, dark-furred head bumped Valerian's shoulder, and then Salem stepped away, tucking the spell globe into her belt pouch.

"For the little one," said Val, handing Cap'n a purse of three coins that would ever return when spent. "To help keep him honest."

Next, Val pulled out two items for Mirielle. The first was a small, polished opaline gem, the size and shape of a sparrow's egg.

"This is the Spring Stone," he told her. "It is my journeyman quest. This gem is the genius spirit of some long vanished river, lake or dried well, for all I know. The old lich wouldn't say. Just that she'd been stolen away as a manna source. What Murchison calls a 'battery'. I was bidden to find its bed, pour water onto it, and thus return the goddess to her rightful home. Don't bother searching Karellon. I have already exhausted every possibility within a ten-mile radius of the City. If I do not return from this venture, Mirielle, I rely upon you to complete my quest and free the goddess. Also… if you hold the stone in your mouth, you can breathe underwater… though you will still feel the pressure and cold. But do not try to speak, or you'll drown."

Very wide-eyed, the girl held the Spring Stone cupped in her hand.

"What if I never find the right river, Lord Val?" she fretted.

"Then you will be in excellent company, as I have not managed the thing, so far, myself. Sherazedan is a harsh taskmaster. But that is a charge, not a gift. Your present is this, and I hope that you will find it useful."

He'd fished out a small hand mirror, too, from one of his faerie pockets. Handed it over to Mirielle, saying,

"It is a transformative focus. You have only to gaze at the mirror and decide what you wish to see, in order to make it so. Half of my recycle time was spent upon forging this trinket, and it should be able to alter your semblance to… well… anything you choose."

The half-drow looked up at him wonderingly.

"Anything?" she pressed.

"Anything," he confirmed, smiling a little. "Only, the effect is purely cosmetic. You may ask for, and get, a set of fine wings, but they will not function to help you fly. I am no wizard. Unfortunately, the change only goes so far… but it will not fade nor fail until you choose to alter it."

Which seemed to matter not one scrap to Mirielle, who gazed into the mirror and gave herself cat ears, then rainbow-striped hair and other such childish delights, shrieking with glee all the while.

Turning next to the scowling ranger, Valerian said softly,

"My gift to you was peace with your lady. Whether or not this changes my standing with you is… not for me to decide. There was no need to throw yourself over the side of the stairs, though, Kala. I had a plan. I knew what I was doing. Do you think so little of me? Have I earned no trust at all?"

The elf-maid stayed silent for a moment. Then, she said,

"I swore that I'd see this through to the end with you, Fisher, and that I shall do. Beyond that… you have surprised me. Having you shift from inevitable fate to an interesting possibility is… confusing. My life is my own, to live or cut short as I see fit. I am not Lady Kalisandra, but I don't yet know how to be anyone else… and whether or not you and I remain together rests in the lap of fate."

She touched his hand lightly with her own, then turned away and strode off toward the distant main door, a walk of several acres. Valerian watched her go, radiating more happiness than Gildyr had ever seen from him.

Then the high-elf sobered once more, pivoting to face the druid, who took a nervous step backward. If Valerian had prepared a gift for Gildyr, he did not bring it forth.

"You have my entire attention," said the young elf-lord, tightly. "What more have you to say to me, Druid?"

"Perhaps that he has allied himself to the goblins, your enemies… and counts one of their mages as his dearest friend, far surpassing any warmth he may cherish for you," drawled Sherazedan the subtle, forming himself out of winter-pale sun glow and sparkling dust. "Unless it is that he's been stringing you along for nearly a month, Boy, intending to barter your sibling's freedom for a peace treaty with murderous vermin. Unsurprising, really," continued the now-solid mage. White-haired and tall, holding a silvery staff, he said, "Woodlings are duplicitous, as is often the case with inferior species. You, however, are an utterly heedless fool."

Flaring suddenly wrathful, the wizard seemed to rise even taller, glowing like lightning made flesh.

"You could have been powerful!" he snapped, eyes blazing. "You might have won a part in the greatest work of the age! Instead, you waste time in these drained, worthless planes, saving the humble, amusing mere brats and doing the bidding of phantoms!"

Sherazedan gestured then, summoning the spirit of a badly mangled and pleading young man. It held out its torn arms in mute appeal, but Sherazedan merely waved a hand through the shade, dismissing it back to its wandering.

"Ghosts are fifty a copper, Boy. I use them to power mage-glows. It is a complete waste of time to resolve their tedious problems or seek after their mewling revenge."

Valerian's stance was rigid, his face ashen-pale as he defended his actions.

"They seem not tedious, nor worthless to me… Master Sherazedan," argued the journeyman. "Where I can, I help. What else is power for?"

Gildyr, Salem and Mirielle gathered close in support of their friend, while the ranger moved nearer through shadow, bow in hand, seeking a likely shot. Not unseen, however.

Sherazedan noticed, and froze her in place with a negligent wave of his hand.

"So be it," he said, lifting a slender eyebrow. "I remove myself from the board and from exerting further influence. Follow your course as you will, Valerian. Survive this fiasco, and we will speak of your future. Perish… and I will find someone still better. Return," he concluded, in the old Empyrean speech of the gods, sending the lot of them out and away. Leaving this relic of Starloft to wind and to scudding dry leaves.

…at least, until a bellowing roar and the thunder-clap boom of great copper wings shattered the emptiness.

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