"In the days when RhyDin itself was young and the bustling city we know today was little more than a collection of shacks on the water's edge, the Tower Masters were already old and vastly powerful. Whatever land they had once called home, they had abandoned and come to this world through The Nexus to build a place apart from any other. Through great magics whose secrets we even now scarcely begin to understand, they brought into being a vast island. No map of this world that I have seen, and I have seen many, shows this land. To be perfectly honest, I do not know whether it exists in the world of Rhydin or somehow beyond it or alongside of it, connected through the planes or dimensions, or even phases. But I know it exists, because I have seen it. I have walked it. And in a sense, I own it.

It was perhaps six decades ago now that I spoke with Arnastia, one of the Tower Masters. She told me of the land's creation, the reasons for it and the manner of it. She told me of the land's history and purpose. And she told me that the Tower Masters were once again leaving their home to begin anew. But this time, they would leave what they had made in the hands of those who would care for it and keep it as they had always meant for it to be kept. They would give this land of theirs into the hands of the elves. Into my hands.

Arnastia gave to me the secret for traveling to this island that no map detailed. She told me of the protective spells woven around it and how to penetrate the maze of magic to find the island's pristine shores. She imprinted upon my mind the path, the only path, from the eastern beaches upward into the mountain range. This path would lead me to the heart of the land, a perfect circle hundreds of miles across, ringed by sloping hills that knelt at the feet of the sentinel mountains.

The first time I went, I went alone. I admit that I was afraid to trust the mysterious Tower Masters. I had never heard of them, nor had the First Warden or Loreil's chief historian. But one of my faults has always been my uncontrollable curiosity. And at heart, I have always been one who wanted to explore over the far horizon. No matter how much time I spend confined to a desk or to a position of authority, I always find myself eventually wandering off to find an adventure. To my credit, usually I return.

But I digress.

Though I have little aptitude for magic, Arnastia had supplied me with a scroll that I might use to travel to and from the island at will. So one day, I went. What I found amazed me. I traveled the length and breadth of the land, and this is what I discovered.

The island is a perfect circle. The beach that rings it is not uniform. In some areas the sand is smooth and fine, and in others the beach is strewn with rock. There is a reef on the eastern arc, treacherous and broad. Any landing upon the shores must be made elsewhere. The beaches give way to forestland. In the south, the trees are small leafed and deciduous, with some varieties that I could not identify. As one travels northward along the arc of the land, the trees become broad-leafed hardwood and conifer. But the forest is universally lush and untouched by any blight or woodcutter's ax. The trees march right to the base of the mountains and midway up the high slopes.

The mountains are stern and gray, with sheer sides. White caps the top of each peak. Only the path that Arnastia provided me allows passage through them, over them really, to the land's interior. Within, the island is as untouched as without. The only signs of habitation are the twelve towers I found placed at regular intervals among the mountain peaks. This is why I call the mages the Tower Masters. Whatever they might have called themselves, I do not know. I do know that their towers are sealed and that I discovered no point of entry into any of them. I have since declared them off limits to all. Whatever secrets lie within may reveal themselves to us in time, but we will not go actively seeking them. I think that this is how the Masters wanted it to be, and I would be most ungrateful to go against even their unspoken wishes.

Traveling down into the valley, I encountered creatures of Rhydin and other places I have been, and some creatures that I did not recognize at all. Fortunately, most seemed as eager to ignore me as I was to be ignored. I was intent on exploring, not engaging the local wildlife in what may or may not have been a friendly confrontation. I entered the land facing westward, which I found poignantly appropriate. I did not for a moment believe that it was happenstance that had made the Masters choose this direction for entry into the island. They had not picked the elves on a whim.

On this side of the valley, the land was all fields, sloping only very slightly in areas. Copses of trees stood here and there along rocky streams, but for the most part it was all waving grass and wildflowers. As I reached what I believed to be the center, I encountered a vast lake, fed by a river tumbling down from the southern curve of the mountains. The water flowed northward from the lake, but much tamer, and became wetlands. To the west, the land was covered by thick forest that stood unbroken to the western slopes.

Other than the forests of Cormanthor in my homeland, I had never seen anything more beautiful than this place that had been given into my care. I immediately felt a connection to it and a love for it that I could not explain. I suppose that I knew in my heart that I was home. There on the shore of the lake, I would start the settlement. I would travel to any place where I knew elves dwelt and I would invite them to make their homes here with me. I am no hand at names, and I simply called the island Winyandor " The New Land. It has since become known more commonly as Doleneska, or Hidden Home in the common tongue.

The settlement I began on the western shore of the lake became Tel'Talim, and is now a city of some size and beauty. And of course I took for myself the title of Keeper, since the land was given to me to preserve and maintain. This was the beginning of Tessarie tel'Quessir, the Keepers of The People."

Commander Lurielle Elentia sat behind a broad desk liberally strewn with books, scrolls and other scholarly looking implements. Her sunset hair was loose, flowing with only the slightest wave to just past her shoulders where the ends tended to curl in little tongues of golden flame. Her eyes, blue like a summer sky, were narrowed in concentration on the document she penned. Her features were fine and gracefully sculpted beneath smooth alabaster skin. She looked to be young " possibly no more than late twenties or early thirties " but since she was of full elven blood, this indicated that she was much, much older.

She had long since discarded the jerkin of midnight blue that was part of the Tessarie uniform, revealing the flowing, white silken blouse worn beneath. Hers was embroidered with silver scroll-work at the gathered cuffs, along the loose sleeves, and again around the high collar, a mark of her elevated standing within the Tessarie, the Keepers. In fact she was their leader. Her position certainly came with no end of work, and she smiled ironically at the thought that she could have given someone else this job and just taken an honorary title instead. But what fun would that have been, really' Raking her hair back from an intelligent brow, she sighed and pushed back in her chair, needing a break from the work before her.

The motion caught the attention of the young apprentice scribe who had been assigned to her by the Master Librarian. His quill ceased its quiet scratching. Lurielle looked over and some of the tension eased from her, softening the hardness in her eyes. The scribe was young, probably no more than fifteen summers, and with his golden hair and half-elven features, he reminded her almost painfully of Sedrian. Right now he was looking at her with serious brown eyes, his expression revealing both attentiveness and a youth's eagerness to please. She smiled.

"Well, young master Errik, have your fingers cramped into uselessness yet?"

His knowledge of the importance of this assignment kept the grave expression firmly in place. Lurielle hid another smile. Now he reminded her not so much of Sedrian as herself.

"I'm fine, Kano Elentia. I could easily write for hours yet. Truly." Knowing that he was the latest in a line of half a dozen scribes who had recently been dispatched to serve the Commander, he was anxious to have her know that he would keep up with her if it killed him.

Lurielle was thinking along similar lines, but her own opinion was that Errik Michelson was far superior to any of the others the Master Librarian had sent her. She strongly suspected that this particular youth had been tasked personally by that worthy gentleman, and that he had decided to let her use him simply to keep her from discouraging any more apprentices from the scribe's trade. Luri tended to be a harsh taskmaster not because she was cruel, but simply because she did not often stop to think that her own driving pace might not suit others.

"Well, I can't write for hours yet. In fact, one more minute of this will drive me insane," she told Errik, a wry twist to her smile. "Between the records for the Academy, the responses to letters from citizens " forget about my personal correspondence " internal Tessar business..." she trailed off and just shook her head, casting a baleful glance at the stack of unopened letters and scrolls they had yet to go through.

"How are you coming along, Errik?" Lurielle looked back to him, gaze curious. He was uncomplaining, but so had the others been right up until the day she had found them replaced and had to start from scratch with a new scribe.

"I've finished cataloging the Academy attendance sheets you gave me, Commander," he returned promptly, eager to show her how much he had accomplished. "And I have made a list of names of the people who wish to receive schedules and copied the schedule for each. I still need to write them their letters, of course, and then there are the requests for record searches you need me to prepare for Keeper Moira..."

"Enough!" Lurielle interjected, her voice suddenly lilting with laughter. "More than enough. And you're doing a wonderful job, Errik. I have never seen anyone who could work as quickly as you without making so much as a single stray blob on the parchment. I'm lucky to have you."

Errik's seriousness dissolved into the universal grin of teenage boys, happy and holding that tiny bit of mischief. "Do you mean lucky I haven't run yet, Commander?"

Lurielle chuckled in response. "That, too!"

"Thank you, m'lady," he replied formally, but unable to hide the pride her words gave him.

"No, thank you. But for this evening, we are finished." I want you to go downstairs and tell the cooks I said to fix you something to eat. Then get yourself home." She grinned at the anticipation that entered his features at the prospect of food from the kitchens of the Hall of the Keepers. The Keepers ate remarkably well for what was, at heart, a military organization.

"I'm sure you could better use your time tonight spending it with friends and family, not stuck in here with hundreds of dusty scrolls and one temperamental Keeper."

"I like working with you, m'lady," he responded promptly, and he meant it. She gave him plenty to do and was not forever looking over his shoulder to check up on him. She trusted him and he knew that her work was important. That meant that his work was important, too. And the longer he stayed with her, the more it would help him advance in the scribe's guild. He might be a journeyman in as little as a year if he kept on at this pace.

Luri chuckled and shook her head. Maybe they were both insane. "Well, I won't have you starving to death so long as you work for me. Get downstairs and eat."

"Aye, Commander," he grinned, springing to his feet. The energy lasted while he carefully and neatly cleaned his writing implements and put them away, then stacked what he had been working on so that he could get right back to it in the morning. With a bow to the Commander who had watched him in silent approval, he left the room and headed for the kitchens.

Lurielle stared at the door for a few moments after the youth had departed, her thoughts on another blond half-elf with serious eyes and a burning desire to prove himself. Sedrian Andano. Her smile gained a touch of sadness and she pushed to her feet, turning to gaze out the window. Her view was of the inner bailey of the Hall. It was called The Hall by most, but really it was a fortified keep. Generally people could be found bustling around the grounds any time of day on some errand or other. But it was near dusk now, and The Hall's activity was dying down in preparation for another quiet night.

Beyond the outer walls, the fields were already darkening where the golden touch of the setting sun slowly gave way to twilight. The lights of Tel'Talim began to wink on, twinkling in windows and the open doors of taverns. Lurielle sighed, surprised at the wistfulness of the sound, and thought about taking a night off from work to venture into one of those taverns below. She would regret it. She knew she would regret it. But she grabbed jerkin, sword and cloak and made her way out of her office, firmly closing the door on the piles of work silently demanding her attention. Later. She would scribble until her fingers bled. Later.

Concerning Arnastia

"I said that it had been sixty years since Winyandor came to me, but it would be inaccurate to say that that was my first and only meeting with Arnastia. On the contrary, by the time she told me of the island, we had been friends for more than twenty years. At the time, I thought her an elf come to study in Rhydin. After all, wizard towers and magic academies abound there. What I didn't know then was that she could likely give lessons to even the most powerful of Rhydin's magefolk.

I lived then in the nation of Loreil, in service to the Wardens. I was Captain of the order, which meant that much of my time was spent traveling and gauging political currents and the change of power between hands. It was on one such journey, when I had been called to Rhydin to mediate a dispute between guilds, that Arnastia first approached me at the Red Dragon Inn where I had taken lodging.

She was regal. There is just no other word for it. I've met queens and other women of power, wealth and beauty, but none of them had ever seemed to me as confident and secure in themselves as this tall elf. Yes, she was indeed an elf, and though she seemed indefinably familiar to me, I would be hard-pressed to name what culture she might have come from. I wish that I had committed more of our first conversation to memory, but I had a lot pressing upon me at the time, and I admit that my memory only includes the most superficial of pleasantries. But as the days wore on, she and I talked more and more frequently.

I am not one to talk about myself. I am content to listen to others, since I find almost anyone's stories more interesting than my own. But Arnastia drew me out from the first. Looking back now, I realize that she told me very little of herself, but learned more about me in that brief time than I had told more than a handful of others. I was to find out later that she knew even more than I realized. When my business in the city drew to its close, I invited the mage to visit me in Stargard. She agreed, but it was some time before I saw her again.

Over the following years, Arnastia became a close friend and confidante. She would visit with me in Stargard, and when I was in Rhydin, I would invariably find myself seeking her out at the Inn, or the townhouse she rented for a time. That was how she knew that I had decided to leave the Wardens of Loreil and strike out on my own. I had no idea where I was going or what I intended to do. I just knew that I had been far too long in one place. The horizon called to me.

We met for the last time in Stargard. It was then that Arnastia revealed to me a bit of what she truly was, and just how long she had been watching me. Apparently she had been looking for a leader among the elves for some time, and I came to her attention when I rose in prominence within the Knights of Corellon, a now vanished military order of elves in Rhydin. She had spent years watching me and learning all she could before she ever approached that first time. She also told me of the circle of magi to which she belonged and of their work, of the High Magic, I now know. To say that I was surprised is putting things mildly.

And though I was intrigued, and though her words awoke within me the need to see the places she described, the enormity of what she asked of me was almost overwhelming. For she asked me to bind myself to this new land, to become its guardian and its keeper, and to bring others of our kind to make their homes within its borders. She desired, through my efforts, a new elven nation. When I asked whether she and her Circle would aid me in this, she calmly replied, "No, Lurielle. We are already gone."

To where, she would not exactly say. But I suspect that their work was simply finished on the island given into my care, and so the Tower Masters had moved on to the next task in whatever agenda they followed. I gave Arnastia no promise then, but she knew me far too well. She knew that I would accept her charge. She must have known, because she left me with the gate spell and the key to bypass the magical barriers that keep Winyandor separate from the rest of the world. Yes, she knew.

That was the last time that I saw her.

~*~

In a world far removed from where one flame-haired elf sat at her desk, penning the short history of a new nation, robed figures sat in council. Their chairs were arrayed in a circle at the top of a tower that could have been carved from ivory. The tower was suspended above....nothing. It simply existed within a uniform gray limbo, a not-space. If one were far enough away looking on, as a child looking at a ball held in her hands, one would have seen this disturbing grayness as a sphere, with the tower at its exact center. There were twelve chairs in all, but one of them was empty. One of the figures stood at the heart of the circle.

The other eleven listened attentively to the twelfth. She was an elf, as they all were, and had she been human she would have looked to be perhaps in her fiftieth year. In reality, her age was forgotten in antiquity. Her ivory robe hinted at slenderness and her lustrous black hair was only minimally streaked with silver. Her eyes, a clear gray, were the only real indication of her age. But the knowledge contained there was so vast and ancient that only the most strong-willed would be able to hold the dark gaze without flinching from the enormity it. The others gathered there were akin to her, and did not look away as her gaze touched each of theirs in turn.

"We cannot be assured that the Enemy was wholly contained before the creation of Erendor," she ended what had been a lengthy plea, her voice dark music. "We cannot be assured that the Enemy has no knowledge of Erendor and therefor no intent to attack Erendor should what we fear come to pass. It is foolish and reckless of us to ignore the possibility and take no steps to ensure the land's survival, the survival of the People."

"The servant of the Enemy was locked away before it even had time to realize it was in the land, Arnastia," spoke one of the other figures, another tall elf with black hair, only his eyes were the blue of sapphires. "I sealed its prison myself, with the help of Cerien and Milaya. Perhaps you do not trust in the power of my own art, but surely the three of us together are enough to assure you of the integrity of the field." He nodded respectfully to the two colleagues named, and continued.

"Even should the Enemy have not been wholly contained, the only servant of his that was ever aware of Erendor at the moment of its creation was contained, and before it could communicate. This I assure you."

Arnastia turned slowly, gauging the attitude and expressions of the other magi. Several added their own thoughts to the argument, and most of them were in agreement with Nosfalen. Milaya looked uncertain, but she did not speak to refute anything that her fellow mage had said. Arnastia stifled her frustration, forced to concede.

"Very well. I believe that the arts of one of us alone would be insufficient to ease my mind. But I am forced to agree that the arts of Nosfalen, Cerien and Milaya combined would be more than a match for any mere servant of our Enemy. But I must tell you, my brothers and sisters, that my heart is still troubled. I shall, however, accede to the wishes of the council. I will not return to Erendor."

Nosfalen, his point now made, offered an olive branch. "The Moonflower elf bound herself to the land as you asked, did she not' She completed the Ritual. Does she retain the amulet of Angarradh that you gave to her?"

Arnastia nodded thoughtfully, knowing where her brother was going with this line of thought.

"Then should anything come to pass in Erendor that even hints at the Enemy, she will feel it at its very inception. And if the danger is great enough, your link to her through the amulet and through the Ritual will in turn make you aware. Should that ever happen, I think we can all agree that you will be able to return with our blessing."

"Yes, my brother. But will it be in time??

But he had risen to his feet along with the others and was moving away from the meeting circle. Arnastia stood for a long while at the center of the tower top, gray eyes looking out into the gray of the not-space, troubled and grim.

The next day, when dawn had barely begun to lighten the sky from violet to blushing rose, Lurielle strode down one of the third-floor corridors in the Hall of the Keepers, headed toward her office. Lately she had been spending more and more time in Rhydin. As a result, there was much work here needing her attention, so she had decided to get an early start. She paused outside of her door, catching sight of movement down the hall. The corridor was not yet brightly lit, but she did not need to make out detail. The proud, unyielding carriage and precision of motion told Lurielle that the High Councilor of House Durothil also began work early this day.

"Good morning, my lord Durothil," she greeted him coolly.

"Formal today are we not, Commander?" he replied. His smile did little to ease the sternness from his noble features.

"And every day, my lord," she confirmed amiably. It was nothing but the truth, and they both knew it. Though she was also on the High Council, and they spoke to one another more or less privately, Lurielle did not unbend.

"Of course," he nodded, and indicated the door of her office with a brief gesture. "You are starting work early. I trust that you do not overwork yourself, Commander." They had covered this ground before, and would again. Lord Durothil resented her position as both Commander of the Keepers and High Councilor. He seldom failed to find an opportunity to imply that she was unable to handle the weight of both responsibilities.

She refused to be baited, however, and after a moment he continued smoothly, "If you should become exhausted or fall ill, Commander, I may have to notify Lady Irulan. Your continued good health is of the utmost importance to so very many."

These words had their desired effect. Lurielle swallowed an unkind reply and smiled wanly. Irulan was the head of the temple of Angarradh, the three-fold goddess, and responsible for the health and well-being of the Keepers. She was as gentle and soothing as a spring breeze " until someone in her care went against her advice, thus jeopardizing their health. Then she was still gentle and soothing, but more in the way a mountain might gently and soothingly refuse to move.

"Uma, Heru Durothil. How very considerate of you. I shall take it under advisement," she said blandly, with a precise little bow.

"Excellent, Commander," he returned, his features undeniably smug. "In that case, I will leave you be." He moved away and Lurielle could have sworn that she heard him chuckling to himself before he rounded a corner and disappeared from view.

A sour smile on her face, she entered her office to begin her day of work. Light work. Corellon's Blood, how she hated taking things easy.

Her mood improved somewhat from the moment she stepped into her office and closed the door behind her. This was her sanctuary. It was still dark in here save for the candles that had been lit in anticipation of her needs. The darkness owed itself less to the fact that the sun was barely up yet and more to the fact that heavy curtains covered the large double doors that made up most of the western wall, leading out onto the balcony. But what light existed inside the little room at the moment made the most of itself. It bathed the parts of the room it reached in muted shades of gold and honey. It caught in the facets of a crystal decanter and glasses nearby, only to be released from them in scattered gem-colored flecks. It made the leather-bound books that lined the many shelves in the room gleam, and caught in the gold and silver lettering on their spines. She loved this room. The smell of it, the look of it, all that it represented.

Lurielle moved to part the heavy curtains. The doors in turn were opened, so that the fresh morning air could flood the office. Autumn was fast approaching and the air was already crisp with the promise of cooler days to come. The elf breathed in deeply and smiled. She was not going to let a ridiculous conversation with Lord Durothil ruin her day.

With the curtains open, there was now plenty of light to work by. Lurielle sat behind the large desk and opened a leather satchel that bulged with the correspondence of the day before. Nimble fingers unfastened the buckle of the satchel and she pushed the flap back to reveal more than a dozen scroll cases and twice that many rolled parchments and sealed letters. Her eyes were drawn immediately to a single case. While the others clustered around it were made of various woods with differing degrees of embellishment, this one was carved from gleaming ivory and capped on either end with pure mithril silver. The case alone had to be worth fifty gold pieces or more. Lurielle, her gaze speculative, withdrew it from the satchel. Who would be communicating with her in this sort of style"

She got up from her desk and went to pull the rope that would summon one of the Hall's servants to her rooms. When the elf-maid arrived, she promptly sent her on her way again with instructions to find the one who had delivered the morning's messages. The day's business was usually sent up to her office before dawn and she had hopes that the messenger was still in the Hall. Leaving the scroll case alone for the moment, she began reading the other letters. Minutes passed. She did not look up when the knock sounded at her door.

"Enter."

The messenger let himself into the Commander's office, trying to suppress his sudden nervousness. He had been down in the kitchens getting himself some breakfast, and maybe a little flirting with the kitchen maids, when the servant had arrived out of breath and anxious to deliver the Commander's summons. At a loss to know what she wanted with him, he had done what little he could to make himself more presentable as he hurried back upstairs. He wondered what he had done wrong. Now he looked at Commander Elentia and felt even more anxious.

Lurielle held up a hand to forestall any greeting and finished reading the page before her. Finally she looked up and studied him a moment in that disconcerting way that she had, then lifted the ivory scroll case to show him.

"I would like to know where this particular message came from," she said.

The messenger's gaze went from the case to the Commander's cool blue eyes, and he swallowed. "That one came from port, my lady. It arrived on one of the fast cutters last night."

"From Rhydin?" she asked.

"Yes, my lady."

"Thank you. That will be all."

He almost sagged in relief as her pinning gaze finally withdrew. "Yes, my lady," he answered again, and wasted little time in getting out of her office. It wasn't that he was frightened precisely, he decided as the door closed behind him. It was just that she was so bloody intimidating! Thankful that she had only needed a question answered, he returned to the kitchens to share his opinion with the staff that Commander Elentia could be downright chilling at times.

Meanwhile, Lurielle had attempted to open the scroll case and failed. No amount of applied strength had succeeded in even budging the mithril end caps. Now she simply stared at it. The caution that she had learned, often the hard way, in her adventuring days had come strongly to the fore. She removed a key from within a pocket of her uniform. The key was small but heavy, made of iron and intricately cut. The lock on her desk to which she fitted the key was equally complex. That one would slow someone even of Moira's skill should they try to pick it.

She pulled open the drawer to display an assortment of small, useful items. She rummaged around until she found a bundle of gold velvet. Its folds concealed a disk of clear crystal, no more than two inches in diameter. Lurielle smiled slightly as she recalled the journey beneath Greypeak's Gate that had brought the item into her possession, but quickly shook off her musings. She raised the disk and peered through it at the ivory case.

The change was immediate. In addition to the detailed carvings of salamanders twining around the case, there was writing in faint, luminous silver along the ivory cylinder. Lurielle sat back, thinking. She had expected the case to be magically warded and perhaps even trapped, but she had not at all expected moon script in a nearly forgotten elvish dialect, scrawled by a hasty hand. Finally she picked up the case again, slowly translating the script through the crystal lens she held.

"Keran's right hand and the Northron's brand."

A chill passed through Lurielle as she slowly lowered both the case and the disk. She couldn't think of anyone still in Rhydin who would know what that meant, and only a handful in other places. One of them must have sent it, which was curious since the messenger had said Rhydin. She was mystified, but at least she now knew what needed to be done to open the case.

Keran was a paladin that Lurielle had met shortly after leaving Cormanthor to explore the world beyond. He had fallen outside the walls of Daerlun during the orcish siege. Lurielle had dragged him from beneath the corpses of more than a dozen of the beasts and, with the help of the dwarf Tog, borne him back inside the walls. His wounds had been too severe to save him. The paladin, knowing this, had begged Lurielle to take the gauntlets from his hands and use them always in her fight against the darkness. He had died in her arms.

She had honored her friend's request and soon learned that the tough gauntlets of russet leather granted incredible strength to the wearer. As Keran had bid her, she wore them in her struggles against the dark and kept them with her nearly always. Keran's right hand meant the right gauntlet. There was nothing else it could mean now.

As for the Northron's brand...

Lurielle looked to the brand circling the third finger of her left hand. The ring that had once rested there had been thin, made of gold and steel and wrought to depict endlessly twining ivy leaves. Those leaves had looked so real that she would have sworn they trembled with the passing wind. The ring's twin had been worn by the Northern ranger, Elias. And just as she and Elias had been linked, the rings had been linked. they were imbued with magic so that each bearer, with full concentration, could learn what transpired with the other.

The day that link had been forcibly severed, the day that Elias had died, her ring had vanished. But it seared a perfect imprint of itself onto the finger it had hugged. It had happened well over a century ago and even the shadow of pain had been forgotten. Now the memories just brought sadness. She had worn the Northron's ring, and she would always wear his brand.

Sighing, Lurielle withdrew the leather gauntlets from another drawer of her desk. She fitted the right one onto her hand. Then, lifting the scroll case with her bare left hand, she made sure the brand touched the silver and twisted both end caps at once. They turned easily.

The elf slipped the parchment from the case and unrolled it on her desk, weighting the ends. She scanned the contents of the letter with a mixture of curiosity and growing unease.

My old friend,

Trouble seems to have found me again. I thought that this time you might like to share it, for old times' sake. You warned me against joining the Harpers, remember" But when did I ever listen" Still, my work with them has led me to the most important discovery in centuries, and I can't be sorry.

I write to you from Rhydin. It was a long journey from Calimport, and I arrived only this morning. There is something here that I need to find, with your help. But I won't lie to you, Quicksilver. I am not the only one who seeks, and I begin to fear that I won't make it to your land. Jamand is already dead, and I'm probably next.

You see, we found a book in a merchant caravan, an ancient journal written in elvish. The merchant had no idea of the true value, but he was in such a hurry to be rid of the book that I hardly think it would have mattered if he did. He tried to hide it, but I sensed that he was a very frightened man. Jamand was able to buy the book for a pittance. It is a first-hand account of Myth Drannor's last days, written by a mage who survived the fall.

I suspected that it was important because of the excellent condition it was in, which indicated magic preservation, perhaps Permanence. But I confess that I did not begin to translate the text until word reached us a few days later that the merchant and all his guards had been slain, his caravan ransacked. Considering his nervousness about the book, we drew an easy conclusion.

That was when we learned the full import of what we had found. The journal is priceless on its own, but it becomes worthless compared to the secret that it holds. We needed to safeguard it. All of the vital information in the book hinges on one page of instructions. Jamand tore that page from the text. We decided to come to you, he with the page, and I some days later with the book.

I know that he made it as far as Rhydin. He sent a messenger back through the Nexus to let me know that he had arrived and that he was trying to discover your whereabouts. He wrote that he suspected he was being followed and had hidden the page 'someplace safe'. When I arrived I started making inquiries immediately. I soon learned that Jamand was murdered near the docks the same day that he had written to me.

The most valuable page of the book is missing, but without the book, the page itself is meaningless. You must safeguard the book, Luri. I've sent it ahead to you, separate from this letter. But I hope that you will have it within a day or two of reading this.

I wish I could tell you more, but my time dwindles. I'll be staying at the Red Dragon Inn. I need you to come to Rhydin as soon as the book is safe and help me find the missing page. You'll understand when you read the journal.

I'm easier now knowing that you are a part of all this. I know you would never fail me.

Jena

By the time she reached the end of the letter, Lurielle's thoughts were a tangled skein that she couldn't begin to unravel. Jena had been one of her closest friends when she lived in Faerun. They had fought beside one another, found trouble together and shared their deepest secrets. She had been the kind of sister that Lurielle had always wanted. Then Elias had come to Waterdeep and Jena had known even before she that her impetuous friend would go where the rugged ranger went. So she had followed her own path to the Harpers.

Lurielle was thrilled at the prospect of seeing her old friend again, but the urgency felt through Jena's words worried her deeply. She sat motionless behind her desk, the parchment still clutched in her hand, when someone knocked at her door. She straightened and rapped out a terse "Enter" that was far from welcoming. But when Errik peeked in, then admitted himself fully, her scowl melted into a look of surprise.

"Quel amrun, Errik. What brings you out so early?"

"Quel amrun, Kano Elentia," the youth replied quietly, eyes downcast. He remembered little of the night before, but suddenly being face to face with the commander made him unaccountably nervous.

The lack of spirit in his tone brought a sharp look from Lurielle and she motioned him closer. "Are you alright' You aren't working yourself into exhaustion, I hope." Her critical gaze passed over his features, and when he lifted his eyes to hers, she noticed faint traces of strain.

"You should have taken more rest last night," she scolded mildly. "If you work so hard that your health begins to suffer," she paused, winced a little at hearing herself almost echo Lord Durothil, but continued, "I will have to put you in the care of Lady Irulan."

Errik's reaction was no less quick than her own had been. "I'm well, I promise." He even managed a smile.

"Still, today is a half day for you," she ordered. "I don't suppose you saw Captain Jiraen or my friend Silphion on your way up?"

"I saw the Captain in the practice room," he responded promptly, beginning to relax. He didn't know why he had been so uneasy really. There was nothing to fear about Commander Elentia. "I heard some of the other Keepers mention seeing Lord Silphion walking toward the city."

Lurielle smiled a little ruefully. Yes, the rumor mill was working overtime to monitor the whereabouts of Lord Silphion. She almost felt sorry for bringing him hear as her guest. They would have done far better to treat the Vanyar's visit as one of professional courtesy rather than giving him the distinction of being the only guest she had brought to Winyandor in memory.

"Thank you, Errik. I'll return shortly."

The elf left her office without a backward glance, intent now on finding Jiraen so she could begin clearing her schedule of some of the less important duties for a while. She was going to be spending even more time in Rhydin, it seemed.

Errik waited several minutes after the commander had departed, sharpening his quills fastidiously. When he was certain that she would not be returning to grab some forgotten item, his calm vanished and he rushed over to read the scroll that Lurielle had been scowling at when he arrived. He knew he would not have time to copy it.

Part of him was horrified at what he was doing " yelled at him to stop. But Errik kept reading, trying his best to commit the words to memory. By the time he placed the parchment carefully back and began his regular duties, his hands were shaking and sweat beaded on his brow from the strain of the inner conflict. He ruined two pages before he finally calmed enough for his hands to steady.

When Lurielle returned, Errik was working with a steady determination that both pleased and worried her. The set of the young half-elf's features said that he was going to scribe every word in her office or die trying.

She started to speak to him, then thought better of it and shook her head slightly. After she had gathered up a few items and secured her desk again, she stuffed the ivory case and the letter back into the satchel and slung it over her shoulder.

Pausing on the way out, Lurielle softly cleared her throat. Errik looked up at her inquiringly and she smiled. "Half day today, remember. I'm off to find Lord Silphion. If anyone comes looking for me, please let them know that I will not be back until this evening.

"Are you sure you're alright' You look pale."

Errik's smile was unfeigned as she fussed over him. "Yes, Keeper."

"Half day."

"Yes, Keeper."

With a satisfied nod, she slipped out.

((OOC Note: Again, written in collaboration with Silphion's player.))

Reverie was the name given to the dream-like state that elves slipped into when they rested. It was not sleep, in that their minds did not lose complete awareness of their surroundings. Instead they vividly relived memories of their past. They had no control over which, and the reverie was often an unpleasant experience. Lurielle, in a way different from any other elf she knew, was able to pull herself easily from the reverie without the normal disorientation others suffered. She could keep this low level of rest up for a surprising number of days in succession, but eventually exhaustion would overcome her and she would truly, deeply sleep.

It had been a long time since she had felt that circumstances required her to sacrifice her rest, but since the night in the gardens that had spooked her, she had been spending as little time in the reverie as possible without diminishing her physical and mental capacity. It would catch up with her of course, but for the moment she ignored that inevitability and simply worked. It was still more than an hour before the sun would make its appearance, but Lurielle already sat behind the broad desk in her office, reading the reports that had come in since the evening before.

Most of what she read was just business as usual, though considering the office she held, very little of it was trivial. However, one report did stand out starkly from the rest. She had just pulled it from the pile and begun reading it over a second time when the door that connected her office to her rooms opened and Silphion emerged. Lurielle looked up from the page with a distracted smile, motioning him toward the tray that the kitchen staff had brought up. She had felt disinclined to eat and simply made herself a cup of tea and promptly forgotten to drink it.

Silphion selected an orange from the tray and deftly peeled it, watching Lurielle's features all the while. He walked over and pulled up a chair, wordlessly sitting down next to her. When her gaze lifted from the page to fix unseeing on the wall, he frowned.

"Something wrong?"

She looked over at him and nodded. "One of the scouts has gone missing. They often fail to report in if they come across something that needs investigated, but this one went missing in the city. In the gardens."

Silphion reached out his hand for the page and she relinquished it to him. Belatedly recalling her tea, she picked it up and drank despite the fact that it was now quite cold. Just as he had watched her, Lurielle studied the other elf as he read the report.

"Missing in a city' He must have been gone for quite a while then" They usually don't report someone missing until at least a couple of days have passed."

Lurielle smiled faintly and when Silphion saw the wry look on her face, he simply waited. She obviously knew more than she had yet told him. His patience was soon rewarded.

"The other night, the night before you sought me out, I had gone into the gardens after work. While I was there, I felt something. Some dark presence unlike anything I've encountered. I thought that it was watching me, or maybe even moving toward me.

And then Jiraen found me on the path. He had seen me leave the Hall and needed to speak with me, but he had been delayed. He found me with my sword drawn, staring into the shadows." She smiled thinly and continued. "I was frightened, if you want the truth." That was a difficult admission for her to make, whether Silphion realized it or not.

"Jiraen saw how upset I was and began sending scouts to patrol the gardens. That's one of the reasons that he sent a guard with us when we went to the springs. He would have sent more soldiers if I had allowed it."

The Vanya listened carefully while she told the story, finishing off the orange in the meantime. He tossed the remains into the waste basket and dusted off his hands, sitting forward. "When are you leaving to investigate it?"

"Right away. I doubt there will be anything to find or it would have been in the report, but I have to look. The sun will be up soon " it might show something the dark concealed."

"Mind if I come along?" He was already rising.

She smiled up at him, having to tilt her head to meet his eyes. "I was hoping you would ask. Are you ready now?" She pushed to her feet as well and hastily swallowed down the rest of the tea.

"Just a few minutes," he told her, and disappeared back into the rooms. When he emerged again a short time later, he had swapped his mage's robe for the familiar gray-trimmed black that she knew well. Though he may have for all intents and purposes retired, Silphion was still a Warden of Loreil.

Lurielle was waiting for him, perched on the edge of her desk. She had donned her sword and daggers and was engaged in working russet gauntlets onto her hands when he returned. The sight of him in the uniform that she had once worn herself made her pause as a wealth of memories washed over her. She had to force her thoughts back to the task at hand. Silphion was speaking.

"This will be easier to move in," he explained. "Shall we go?"

"Uma, lye auta," she agreed, heading for the door.

~*~

"Did you sense anything strange when we were in the gardens last night, Silphion?" They were riding through the city now, she on the light warhorse Arrna and Silphion on a larger steed called Firefoot. It was the same horse he had ridden when they went on their journey to the springs, and the two seemed to have taken to one another.

Silphion looked over at her and shook his head. "No, I didn't feel anything last night " but then I wasn't looking either." He nudged his horse a little closer to hers. "That doesn't mean there isn't anything to be found. I'm not exactly a diviner, but I at least know the spells they use."

"What did it feel like?" he asked after a moment. "The thing that disturbed you in the gardens, I mean."

"It felt sinister and threatening," she shrugged, realizing how unenlightening that was. "It was oppressive, like a weight on my senses. I really can't describe it any better than that." She had given it some thought in the days since though, and added, "Maybe what I felt was some sort of concentrated aura. Jiraen had no similar experience, and he was within a few yards of me before whatever it was fled.

"All I know is that I didn't see a thing. Not with my eyes, and not with infravision."

He hummed thoughtfully to himself. It was a habit of his that Lurielle had noted often in the past few days. He seemed completely unaware of it, but it made her smile whenever she heard it. "Maybe I can see something with my aura-vision," he finally offered. "I can't see as well in the dark, but I can see other details that you may have missed." He looked at her sidelong, and finished quietly, "Sounds like you felt someone's killing intent pretty well though."

Lurielle wasn't sure what she had felt exactly, but she wouldn't deny that it had been threatening. They covered the remaining distance to the gardens in silence. For the most part, Lurielle was deep in thought, considering the events of the night before and wondering what had befallen the scout. But she did notice that they received fewer looks today. Not as many elves were out this early, but also, the populace were becoming used to the sight of Silphion at Lurielle's side. No one waved this morning. It was obvious that the Commander and her companion were preoccupied.

As they approached the northern entrance to the gardens, the senior guard on duty did stare. She was struck by how similar the two of them looked despite the difference in height and coloring. It was something in the way they carried themselves, or maybe the air of confident purpose that blanketed them both like a mantle. Cut from the same cloth, she thought, watching them.

Lurielle and Silphion dismounted almost in concert, leading their horses the rest of the way toward the gate. The senior guard and her partner came to attention and saluted the Commander sharply. Lurielle returned it and then spoke quietly with them a moment, learning what she could of what had happened here since the scout failed to report in.

Silphion, after a solemn nod to the guards, walked past while Lurielle lingered. He was squinting into the still-shadowed gardens, forcing his eyes to adjust to the vision that let him see the aura of living or magical things when normal sight was insufficient. His ears twitched momentarily as he ceased squinting. It hurt a little, but he was able to see the aura of Lurielle and the guards clearly now in the near-darkness. There were some animals, too, that bore a faint aura.

Since there was really very little information to be had, it wasn't a moment before Lurielle came to stand beside Silphion once more. They moved together into the gardens.

By now the sun had begun to peek over the edge of the horizon, but beneath the canopy of trees, there was not yet enough light to penetrate the shadows or give more than a suggestion of individual objects. The shadows were even darker further in, and that is where they were headed. When they were in the little clearing where Lurielle had encountered the strange presence, she stopped.

"This is where I was the other night," she explained, and pointed toward a spot in the trees. "I felt the presence over there, in the shadows. Or at least that's where I perceived it to be," she thought out loud. "Jiraen and his men found nothing when they came later to look. And I have no idea where the scout may have been. This could take a while."

Silphion nodded, examining the shadows around them. But he could see frustratingly little. "I wonder what reason someone would have to lurk here, or to possibly harm people." He continued on, Lurielle silently shadowing him.

She had no answer to his thought, but she was no less troubled. This city, this island, was supposed to be a haven. In all the years since elves and half-elves had begun migrating here, the worst crimes had involved merchants coming to blows or the occasional fight in a tavern getting out of hand. She did not look forward to having to issue warnings to the citizens, but it would have to be done right away. If her own scouts were disappearing, no one was safe. And if it had anything to do with the presence she had sensed the other night (and the odds were certainly in favor of it), she held out little hope of finding the scout unharmed.

"Do you see anything yet?" she asked Silphion.

He was about to shake his head, but paused suddenly and took a couple of steps backward to peer down one of the side paths they had just passed. He looked troubled as he stared intently at the path, then one of the flower beds beside it. "Huh....I thought I saw an aura back there."

Lurielle stood next to him, her own eyes searching in a more mundane fashion. Her hand came to rest on the hilt of her sword as she transferred her gaze to the tall elf at her side. "Let's go have a look then."

She followed Silphion until he stopped near one of the stone benches along the path. Here the trees stood back a short distance from the pathway, allowing for flowering vines to grow profusely over the fertile ground and trail up the sides of the bench.

Silphion continued to examine the small area, frustrated. He knew that he had seen something, but now that they stood here, everything looked exactly as it should. Eventually he knelt and pressed his hand to the ground, frowning. Lurielle waited in silence, her azure eyes alternating between studying the shadows for any approaching threat and watching her friend curiously.

"There is something near here, or at least was here until very recently. It's faded though," he frowned. He stood up again. "How close are we to the clearing where you had your encounter?"

"Not far from it," she replied. "The path twists back on itself. You can't see it from here, but the clearing is just a short distance to the east."

She had knelt down herself as she answered, in the same spot that Silphion had examined. But where he had been looking for an aura, she was looking for physical signs of disturbance. Most elves knew something of tracking, especially if they had spent any part of their lives in the forests, and Lurielle was better than most. She had learned from her father, the very best. As she studied the path and the ground to either side of it, she thought she detected a subtle difference between the flowers that spread naturally over the ground and those that had perhaps been carefully arranged to resemble them.

"The aura" Like whatever it was left' Are you seeing the aura of the evil thing, or the scout?" She asked the questions distractedly. She had begun brushing aside the flowers now. The vines were not attached to the ground, but rather crept along it. They pushed easily out of the way.

Silphion, seeing her intent, had crouched down beside her to help brush away the vines. There was the aura again. He grunted softly and answered her last question. "The scout, I think. Something's buried beneath here."

He stood abruptly, looking around them with narrowed, slate-gray eyes. "Lurielle, how many exits are there supposed to be?"

"Three." She looked up at him curiously. "There is the main entrance that you and I came through, a matching gate on the south wall, and a smaller one a bit further down for the garden's tenders to use."

So it was a walled garden then, he thought. His hunch at least made sense now. Without another word, he cast a flight spell and rose up into the air, high enough that he could get a good look over the entirety of the gardens. He was hoping to find something that was hidden at ground level.

Lurielle blinked at the abrupt departure. It wasn't the use of magic that surprised her, but rather the suddenness of his action. She watched a moment, then pulled her gaze away. Alone now on the path, she looked back down to the ground, studying it, and was forced to conclude that Silphion was right. Something was buried here. She rose up and dusted off her gauntlets, looking upward to catch a glimpse of him.

From his vantage point, the mage could see all of the canopy that covered the majority of the gardens. Since the taller varieties of trees were only allowed to grow along the walls to further add to the garden's secluded feel, Silphion did not have to rise very high to get a clear view. The area was perhaps a square half-mile of carefully tended trees, flower beds and winding paths. He could see the reflecting pool at the heart of the gardens and many of the pathways through breaks in the trees. A high wall of pale gray stone enclosed all of it. Everything appeared for now to be perfectly peaceful and ordinary.

Finding no obvious indications of something amiss, Silphion spent a few more moments looking before descending once more to land gently on his feet beside Lurielle. She had taken a seat on the bench by now to await his return, and despite the outward appearance of patience, she was seething inside. The more she thought about all of this, the more her anger tried to be free. This was her land. These were her people. She wanted to know what in the Abyss was happening to them.

But when Silphion was back at her side, she masked the growing fury and looked up at him with lifted brows. "Anything?"

He gave a negative shake of his head. "No new exits I could see, and no hiding spaces. But it's still not fully light down here. Later in the day, we may have better luck." He looked down at the spot of ground they had cleared. "Let's get some help to dig up whatever is buried here.?

Lurielle nodded and led the way back out. They walked in silence now, and neither one of them spoke the words that were uppermost in their thoughts. Those thoughts, however, were in perfect accord. They both knew what was hidden beneath the ground.

In any form of creation, balance must exist.

The smith who creates a sword, hammer or plowshare does so with balance in mind. The composer writes her music balancing melody and harmony, pitch and tone. Any artist or craftsman works toward true balance in their endeavors, because to ignore this simple need means imperfection and disharmony. Through balance, creation strives toward perfection.

The masters who created Winyandor knew this. When they brought the land into being over time, they did so with the knowledge that it could not be 'perfect' in the spiritual sense, like a pleasant dream with no end. That was the province of the gods. They were workers of the High Magic, but they were not gods. Thus, the land that they brought into being was not perfect, but it was balanced.

They moved creatures from other lands, other worlds, to Winyandor over time, seeking to balance out the land with those that were best suited to its different features. They did not limit their efforts only to those creatures that could be considered good, or benign, because that would have created the imbalance that they sought to avoid.

Because of this, the island is home to creatures both good and evil, benign and dangerous. The wilderness beyond Tel'Talim can sometimes be as fraught with peril as that of any naturally formed world. The only exception to this balance of nature is the elves. We are the only humanoid race that has ever set foot upon Winyandor. Within this land, we have no counterpart, no natural enemy. The drow that plague many lands that the various elves here migrated from are not present below the surface that we walk upon. No illithids or duergar lair beneath us. No orcs or goblins rampage across the land to kill and burn. Chromatic dragons do not darken our skies.

Philosophers in the temples argue that this imbalance created by our settling here comes with a price. They claim, rightly, that this is not Evermeet, though many similarities exist. Evermeet is a piece of Arvandor set down by the Seldarine, perfect in ways that the creations of lesser beings cannot be. Thus, the philosophers tell us that since nature will always work toward balance, our existence here as it is today cannot be sustained indefinitely.

Only time will tell.

~*~

Bastion was the name given to the estate of House Durothil in Doleneska. Situated on the southern outskirts of the city, it was a tribute to the ancient gold elf house's wealth and influence. Like the majority of the city's prominent buildings, the manor had been shaped rather than built. Polished basalt, a dully gleaming dark gray, formed the manor itself. Around it, several smaller buildings had been shaped from living blueleaf trees, chosen for their graceful slenderness as well as their durability. Their branches wove together to form seamless walls and ceilings, the blue foliage that gave the trees their name a natural decoration. More polished basalt formed the wall around the estate, but its darkness was relieved by the slim silverbarks and birches planted close together all along its length. The estate was gated, and often guarded by elves in the yellow and white of House Durothil, a golden dragon's head emblazoned on their chests.

Within the walls, the grounds were neatly tended. White roses and yellow bloomed in alternating bunches amid large-leafed plants of dark green. Beautifully sculpted dryads, naiads and other nature spirits sat amid the flowers and trees, so life-like that they might have just paused at the very moment the observer looked their way. Everything was painstakingly engineered and maintained to present an image of understated elegance.

Lord Andrethyn Durothil, patron of his House and High Councilor of Winyandor, looked out the window of the solar, staring at the immaculate gardens. He had lately returned from another session of Council where Commander Elentia had been notably absent, and despite his placid exterior, he was angry. Whenever the silver elf chose to absent herself from these meetings, nothing was accomplished. The other elves seemed wholly incapable of making a decision without her input. It was unfathomable. It was infuriating. Even the Ar-Tel'Quessir, the Sun Elves, deferred to her. He knew that her Moonflower blood influenced many of them, no matter how removed she might have been from the line of Amlaruil, but in his eyes that only made her strong influence worse.

He knew that it was only a matter of time before her Teu-Tel'Quessir nature would emerge and she would go gadding off to the gods knew where, leaving Winyandor to its fate. Had she not already proven how unsuitable she was to lead the elves" She had married a human! The fact that it had been more than a hundred years ago and that the human was long-dead, with no issue, did not make her lapse of judgment any more tolerable. Nor did her refusal to go into Retreat weigh well with him. While the elves of her homeland had been falling back in the face of the ever-encroaching tide of humanity, Lurielle Elentia Moonflower had stepped through the Nexus and abandoned Faerun altogether, dedicating herself to endeavors in Rhydin.

And then she had come to Evermeet, sixty years ago, and asked for an audience with Amlaruil. No one, not even the Council of Matrons, knew what was said inside that room. But when Lurielle emerged, she had Queen Amlaruil's blessing to take as many elves with her as cared to go to some new land that she called Winyandor. He and the leader of his house, Ilianaro, had not expected any of the elves to take advantage of the offer. But they had been wrong. Entire silver elf houses had packed up and gone. Several of the gold elf houses had split, some arguing for going and others for staying. Even the forest and aquatic elves had started migrating in small numbers. Ilianaro, believing that Amlaruil had some hidden motive for allowing so many elves to depart Evermeet, decided that Durothil could not afford to be unrepresented in this new land. He directed his grandson, Andrethyn, to take a third of their house and move to Winyandor.

Andrethyn had to admit now that while Tel'Talim could not equal Leuthilspar in beauty, it had fast become a home to him. He had taken an interest in the guidance of the land immediately, and through the influence of his house, chief among the gold elves that had settled here, he acquired a seat on the High Council. And now that Evermeet had disappeared into the Feywilde and contact with the elves there was fleeting, he had decided to commit himself fully to Winyandor. But that meant that the authority of the silver elf Lurielle was even more of a burden to bear. He had his own vision for the land, and she somehow always seemed to stand in direct opposition to it. His days were now spent tirelessly seeking a way to diminish her star and brighten his own.

Of course, acquiring the means to such drastic change often meant allying oneself with those that, in normal times, one would prefer not to otherwise acknowledge. Such was the case with the human that stood waiting for his attention, hands clasped at the small of his back in a decidedly military pose. The human was large, standing well over six feet, and broad. His hair was a rich brown streaked liberally with silver and his eyes a calm, deep blue. He wore a thin mustache and beard that shadowed the square line of his jaw. His face was lined with years of experience, but it bore an aristocratic stamp, an arrogance that matched that of the elf lord. He wore rich clothing as well, suited to a noble, all in subdued colors. A remarkable cloak rode his shoulders, the colors alternating between deep green, charcoal, indigo and night blue depending on the light, or his motions. On the first finger of his left hand he wore a heavy gold signet ring of a field gules with a phoenix rampant, two swords crossed behind with point upwards, one sable and the other azure.

Lord Durothil was as different from the human as day from night. He was slighter in build and height, with bronze-dusted skin, dark green eyes and long, flowing golden hair plaited at either temple, the braids interwoven with bands of hammered silver. His clothes were the best that the gold elven artisans could create, which meant that they were fine beyond most mortals' comprehension or belief. The floor-length robes were understated, the pristine, glistening white of mourning accented with saffron trimming and a cloth-of-gold sash at his slender waist. He wore little jewelry, limiting himself to a single fire ruby at his forehead and a matching ring. Though he was centuries older, he looked almost untouched by time. And while the human's size and bearing indicated strength of arms and forcefulness, the elf lord was grace and serenity.

However, there was one striking similarity between the two. They both exuded a sense of power and authority, and with both there was a certain air of ruthlessness. They were accustomed to getting what they wanted, by any means.

Finally Lord Durothil turned from his study of the gardens, unhurried. He waited until he had crossed the room of his solar and stood before the human before speaking.

"Lord Evenhand," he began smoothly. "The last person I would have expected to see in Winyandor is one of the Battlemasters of the Purple Dragons, especially the Lord Commander of Marsember. And yet, here you are." He smiled thinly, beginning to pace, but without hurry or agitation. The man did not speak, waiting him out.

"Of course, had you requested to visit us, I am certain that the High Council would have agreed and even prepared a suitable welcome for a personal envoy of King Foril. But somehow I suspect that this is not a state visit. I do wonder how it is that you came to be here though, and why."

His words were silken and spoken mildly, but one would have to be a fool not to hear the menace in them. Keivan Evenhand was not a fool. But before he answered any of the elf lord's questions, he had one or two of his own.

"How do you know who I am?"

Lord Durothil raised his own left hand, showing the fire ruby ring. "Your signet, human lord," he said with mild contempt. "I may no longer live in your world, but that does not mean that I have forgotten all I ever knew."

"And why have you brought me here" Should you not have turned me over to your soldiers, your Keepers, for questioning?"

The Ar-Tel'Quessir's features remained impassive, a cool mask, but his mind was working. There was only one way a human could have come to the island without any personal knowledge of it, and that was on one of the trade ships from Rhydin. Whether he had bought the captain or stowed away was a question that could be answered later. It seemed that he had been here long enough to learn something of them though, and he wondered how much. He ignored the man's question.

"You have placed me in a very difficult position," Durothil said. "The question of what to do with any humans setting foot upon our island has not yet been decided in Council. I believe that I would be perfectly within the boundaries of our laws to have you killed on sight. It would be regrettable of course, having to report to the Council that the murderer the Keepers so assiduously seek was killed in an attempt to apprehend him." He paused a moment, letting that calmly spoken threat hover in the air between them. "Why are you here, human lord?"

The use of 'human lord,' spoken so patronizingly, had the man quietly seething. Had the gods been kind, he would never have come face to face with this elf. But by the sheerest bad luck, bowmen wearing the colors of this one's house had apprehended him when he left the gardens the night before, dragging the unconscious form of his unwilling spy with him. Where they had taken the boy, Keivan didn't know, and that worried him. He had not had time to wipe the boy's mind before he was caught. He had expected to be turned over to the Keepers, perhaps to Commander Elentia herself, but instead he had been secreted through the city and taken through the gates of this manor to await an audience with Lord Durothil. He was confused and wary, but he was not without hope.

Keivan Evenhand, the son of one of Cormyr's oldest noble houses, had not maneuvered his way through the political waters of that country for most of his life without becoming a very strong swimmer indeed. He knew that if the elf lord did not have a use for him, he would already be dead. And if he ceased to be useful, he would also be dead. He could always attempt to Dominate him, but he knew a will equal to his own when he saw it. He would not risk the psychic backlash, or the very likely chance that Lord Durothil was protected even now, though the room seemed empty but for the two of them, and the elf unarmed. Even if he managed to succeed in such a reckless scheme, he was still inside the fortified manor of the elf lord, with all of his household and guards to contend with.

For the moment, he decided that it was better to be in the elf lord's good graces than be a corpse.

"I have come here searching for something " something that was stolen from me and that I have spent more than a decade trying to recover. My search led me to Rhydin, and then here, to your land."

"I see. And what leads you to believe that this....something....is on Winyandor?"

"One of the thieves sent it to your leader, Lurielle Elentia."

Lord Durothil could not stop the sudden narrowing of his eyes at the word 'leader.'

"She is not our leader," he corrected coldly, and instantly regretted it. He had seen speculation blossom in the human's eyes. "What did this thief send to her??

Keivan hesitated, but what could he really do' For the moment, he was at the elf lord's mercy. He began to tell of the journal from Myth Drannor and its secrets. Andrethyn listened in silence, patient as the stone that formed the walls around them. Inside, he rejoiced. Lurielle's influence could finally be countered, and his own power cemented. But he would have to use the human. His life was forfeit, of course. He had killed an elf, on elven soil. An act like that deserved the full measure of recompense. But first....first he needed a hound in Rhydin. Keivan Evenhand would do nicely.

((OOC Note: Written in collaboration with the talented player of Silphion.))

Jiraen Silverleaf was not an elf of Lurielle's homeland. He was a type of elf known as eledhel. These elves tended to be far more reclusive than the silver elves, but more reasonable than the golds. They were taller and broader, their average height more in keeping with that of humans. And yet they retained the elven features, agelessness, and grace. While not generally considered warriors, since most of them tended to limit their skills to bows and other weapons suited to hunting, most acknowledged them to be fearless, stalwart companions and loyal without question. Jiraen was typical of the eledhel except that he was a warrior, and a formidable one at that. He was also Lurielle's self-appointed guardian whether she wanted one or not.

Just now, however, he felt no desire to protect her. In fact, only two things kept him from taking her by the shoulders and shaking some sense into her. The first was that she was his Commander, making such an action insubordinate; Captain Silverleaf valued the military order of the Keepers highly. The second was that Lurielle was not likely to stand for it, and they might end up doing real damage to one another before the two of them could rein their tempers in if he were foolish enough to use physical force to try to make a point. So he clenched his hands at his sides and prowled past her into the office, sweeping a look over the spacious room. When he saw that her near-constant companion was not in attendance, he relaxed slightly.

Lurielle had not missed the look in his eyes or the clenching of his fists, but she did not comment. Instead she closed the door with deliberate care behind him and cast a glance skyward, calling on Angarradh to grant her patience. She studied him as she turned and moved away from the door. He was wearing the mithril elven chain that many of the Keepers had donned now that they were in battle dress, and he wore it well. Of course, the militant look about him was probably even more striking because of the flinty green gaze and the hard set to his features. Even his hair had been tamed, the straight black locks cut at his shoulders and pulled back into a severe braid that brought his angular elven features into stark prominence.

Deciding that her captain needed a moment to compose his thoughts " or was it that she needed a moment to compose hers" - Lurielle spoke before Jiraen could.

"I know you have a lot to say, but I need you to excuse me for just one moment." She tried out what a smile would achieve and was pleased to see a bit of the tension ease from Jiraen's stern countenance.

"Of course, Commander," he replied formally.

"Thank you. I won't be long."

With that, she opened the door to her private chambers and slipped through, closing it softly behind her. She really did not intend to be in here for more than a moment " just long enough to inform Silphion that Captain Jiraen had finally arrived. But when she saw him, she forgot all about her intentions.

Silphion sat cross-legged on the floor in the center of Lurielle's bedroom. Surrounding him were dozens of bronze necklaces and trinkets that he had gathered that day. Two of these had a blue gem implanted in the center and were glowing softly. He concentrated over a third. Chanting softly and gesturing, he carefully wove two spells together. Two luminous magic circles swirled beneath his body, intermingling until the symbols mixed, harmonized and became one single spell. At the end of the chant, the single circle that remained began to compress, and "fell" into the bronze necklace. At the pendant's center, a blue gem formed where the magic had focused, pulsing once before falling dim like the other two.

When the casting was complete, Silphion slumped forward. Only three finished talismans sat before him, and already he felt the sweat beginning to pour from his brow. It was exhausting work. Leaning back, the mage relaxed and tried to regain his energy and his breath.

Lurielle watched him with concern. He looked as though he had just run for miles. Her gaze flicked to the items before him, comparing the number of finished pieces to those that were yet to be done. Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head.

"This is too much, Silphion."

He slowly took a breath and let it go, straightening to look up at her as she approached. "I won't do it all at once. No more than five a day. I don't think I could handle any more than that, honestly." He looked at the items before him and picked up one of the finished trinkets. This one was a pendant on a length of chain that could be worn as either a necklace or a circlet. The magic that it radiated was subtle but the effects would be immediate to anyone who touched it.

"This one's yours," he stated, offering it up to her.

She took the pendant from him and rested it on her palm, staring into the gem. The moment it touched her skin, the effects washed over her mind. Though she felt a sort of warmth wrap around her, nothing else seemed to happen.

"What does it do?" She fixed him with a curious azure gaze.

"It will protect you from all forms of telepathy," he explained. "It won't necessarily 'break' any existing effect, but it will render it powerless. Meaning a dominated person is still dominated, technically. But so long as they wear that trinket, they have free will."

He thought a moment, and added apologetically, "The downside is that you cannot bolster yourself with your own mind-affecting powers."

"Well, since I'm unaware of any mind-affecting powers I might possess, that doesn't really worry me," she quipped, then sobered. "But really, Sil, this is remarkable. Thank you for going to the trouble. Did you make one for yourself yet?"

"I probably should take one," he agreed, "but I wanted you to at least protect those closest to you first."

Lurielle dipped her head, trying to get him to meet her teasing gaze. "And how many people here do you think are closer to me than you?"

His heart warmed to her teasing even as his smile became sheepish. He lifted the final pendant to show her. "Then this last one should be for the Captain, or anyone else you can think of. I can probably make one more today " safely that is."

Lurielle nodded and pulled the chain over her head, fixing the pendant so that it was concealed within her shirt. She pulled her hair free of the chain, considering. "Yes, Jiraen for sure. But then....I think then the Council."

"I would have thought the Captain would be here by now with as much ruckus as we've made with the clerics," Silphion thought out loud.

Lurielle, suddenly reminded that Jiraen was cooling his heels in her office at this very moment, swore a rather vicious oath. She couldn't believe she had left him out there for so long " had forgotten his very presence in fact.

To Silphion's surprised look, she responded fatalistically, "He is here. He's been in my office since right before I came in here so speak with you. He's going to kill me."

And without another word she darted through the door connecting the bedroom to the office, shutting it behind her and trying not to look as guilty as she felt. Jiraen shot a fulminating look to her, and she had the grace to blush. She was embarrassed, and that made her defensive.

"So glad that you didn't feel the need to hurry on my account," Jiraen commented acidly. Whatever relaxing he had begun to do had returned to tension as the minutes ticked by in silence, with no reappearance of his commander.

"I apologize," she said tersely, anything but apologetic.

"Spare me," Jiraen responded. "I came by only because you summoned me. If you choose to waste my time once you have me here, then it is only your right, Commander."

"I didn't summon you for any reason of my own, Captain," she returned with equal coldness. "Silphion needed to see you. He has something for you."

Jiraen had no time to respond before the door connecting the office to Lurielle's private rooms opened.

Silphion had sat in the bedroom for just a moment longer, wiping the sweat from his brow. Then he had picked up the two enchanted trinkets that remained. He wrapped one about his wrist as a bracelet and closed his hand about the other. Pausing just long enough to fix his robes, he entered the office.

He emerged upon a scene that was already tense. Lurielle was perched on the edge of her desk regarding the taller form of Captain Silverleaf with a look about her features that could only be called mutinous. Jiraen seemed no happier, but the chill in his eyes reached new levels of frigidity when he saw from which direction Silphion entered the office. He gave a speaking look to Lurielle, indicating that he would deal with this later, then turned smoothly to bow to Silphion. His face was a mask except for the glittering emerald eyes.

"Quel re, heru," he greeted him formally. "I understand that you have something for me."

"Yes. Please forgive me, Captain, but I must impose upon you." Stepping forward, the tired mage opened his hand to reveal the small bronze trinket, offering it to Jiraen. "Please put this on. Once you do so, I can tell you what is going on."

Jiraen slid a darkling look to Lurielle, but she was no longer in the mood for it.

"Captain," she said coolly, making it clear that Silphion's request was, from her, an order.

Jiraen took a deep breath, willing himself to calm, and stepped forward to pick up the trinket from the mage's hand. Emerald eyes focused steadily on slate-gray as he pulled the chain over his head. His eyes widened at the immediate sensation, but beyond that he was stoic.

"And now, if you think I can be trusted sufficiently," he aimed the barb at Lurielle, "May I know what in the Nine Hells happened to my scout?"

It was Silphion who responded. He was tired, and he didn't bother to honey-coat the answer. "A psion killed her. He tried to take over her mind and failed, we think. Then he killed her to prevent himself from being revealed.

"And I believe he's already dominated others as spies or assassins. That charm is supposed to completely prevent all forms of telepathy and mind-reading."

Jiraen looked from Silphion to Lurielle, a question in his eyes. Lurielle saw and nodded slightly, affirming the mage's words. "Yes, Jiraen. The mages of the Tower and the clerics of Sehanine examined her together. They confirmed it."

The Captain's obvious anger subsided as he listened to first one, and then the other. "This is the one you encountered on the path the other night then," he reasoned. And since her safety was always uppermost in his mind, he leaped ahead. "Who else has been warded so far?"

"Just us three," Silphion said. "I can make a fourth, but I'll need to rest for a few hours before more can be produced."

He nodded. "If we only have one more to work with, ward Errik."

Lurielle's eyes widened in surprise, then promptly narrowed as the events of the previous morning returned vividly to her.

Silphion looked from Jiraen to Lurielle, and then back again, his eyes filled with confusion. And worry.

"Who is Errik?"

"My scribe," Lurielle replied absently. Her eyes followed Jiraen as he began pacing, digesting what he had learned and considering possibilities. She continued. "He works with me most days. I can't even imagine why you haven't met him yet." Jiraen gave a soft snort that Lurielle ignored.

"Your scri—" Silphion's heart froze. He had truly thought that Lurielle worked alone. If Errik hadn't been dominated already, then he was a prime target.

"I'll get started right away," he said quickly. And with that, the elf darted back into the bedroom, not bothering to close the door, and hastily sat down next to the mess of trinkets again. Focusing his attention on the necklace closest to him, the mage began to chant again in the language of dragons, his arms weaving different patterns as the two magic circles swirled into existence beneath him once more, growing, spinning and weaving.

In the office, Jiraen had modified the pattern of his pacing to take him in sight of the open door so that he could keep an eye on Silphion. If anything, the magic made him even more uneasy. He took advantage of the absolute concentration that he knew mages required to speak quietly, but angrily, to Lurielle.

"You place far too much trust in him, Luri."

She began to look mutinous again. "How can you say that' Do you even see what he's doing" Protecting us, Jiri, and this is not even his fight."

"He might, and I say might be protecting you, but the rest of us are incidental," he said as if she hadn't spoken. "Who is he really' All I know is that he comes out of nowhere within a day of the first encounter with that thing in the gardens, and suddenly he has all the answers, and you following him around on a string."

Lurielle's eyes hardened. Any thought she might have had of reaching out for Jiraen's understanding and willing cooperation vanished.

"We will speak of this later, Captain Silverleaf. You're dismissed."

Realizing that he had let his frustration and anger get the better of him, not to mention his over-protective instincts where she was concerned, he tried to apologize. He needn't have bothered.

"Get out!" Lurielle snapped.

The Captain stiffened, offered a precise bow, and turned on his heel to go. The door slammed behind him with enough force to rattle the crystal glasses and decanter on the nearby table. Lurielle's eyes remained flinty, staring at the door for long moments after he departed.

Silphion's ears twitched at the slamming of the door, but he continued chanting. After perhaps fifteen minutes had passed, his hands stopped their weaving and clapped together. The harmonized magic circle spun rapidly, shrinking and condensing. At the spell's end, a new blue gem was formed, and Silphion's body slumped even further.

Lurielle had stopped trying to bore a hole through the door with her eyes minutes earlier, but she didn't approach Silphion until the chanting stopped. When she did, it was with a glass of elverquisst in her hand. She offered it to him without a word and knelt down behind him to begin massaging the tension from his shoulders.

At any other time, the silver-haired elf might have commented on the offered drink. Since the disappearance of Evermeet into the Feywilde, exports of the gold-flecked wine, always rare, had become nearly non-existent. But now however, he was too tired to be anything more than grateful for it. His eyes closed as Lurielle's hands worked at his tired muscles, and he began to breathe easily. A sip of the wine further revived him.

The silence stretched while Luri worked, and thought. Some might not trust Silphion, but she did. She saw the way the work drained him and felt guilty that his visit here, supposed to be fun and carefree, was turning out to be so filled with unpleasantness.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, finally letting her hands drop.

Silphion turned to her, leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips first, and then affectionately on her forehead. Lurielle's lashes veiled her eyes a moment, but when he pulled back she smiled up at him a bit wanly.

"I'm just happy to help," he told her quietly. "In a way, I'm truly glad that you have a guardian as good as Jiraen."

"He's been looking after me almost from the very beginning of all of this. I'm not sure he even realizes how ingrained it is." She took an unsteady breath, looking down to focus on the hands now entwined in her lap. "I should never have made him Captain," she mused. "He was too good of a friend to easily take orders from me.

"Besides," she added wryly, "I think he believes he's the one in charge anyway."

Silphion chuckled and tilted the wine glass back to finish off its contents. "Thanks for defending me, by the way." Oh yes, he had heard that bit at the end.

Her eyes held his for the space of a few heartbeats, and she slowly smiled.

"You're welcome."

When she pushed to her feet and walked back into the office, he watched her retreating figure a moment. Then he grabbed up the fourth talisman that he had created and followed.

((OOC Note: Written in collaboration with the talented player of Silphion.))

The door closed behind Silphion.

The silver-haired elf took a deep breath and shook his head. He had not expected to enjoy the encounter with Errik's family, and he had not enjoyed it. Since Errik spent most of his time in either the dormitory of the city's library or the Hall of the Keepers, his family had been unaware of anything amiss. Thus, Silphion's visit had come as an unwelcome surprise.

They had not seen Errik for two days, which they explained to the tall elf-lord as being nothing out of the ordinary. But the very fact that he was there on behalf of Commander Elentia looking for Errik gave them cause for concern. Silphion mentally cursed himself for coming here first, when Errik might possibly be found at the library. He tried what he could to allay their fears, telling them that he had yet to visit the dormitories and that as far as he knew, there was no cause for alarm. But when they had shown him out, he had seen through their politeness to the worry beneath.

Now he stood on the wide porch fronting the modest house and looked toward his tethered horse. Firefoot stared back reproachfully. The rain had begun while the elf was inside, and Firefoot was drenched and unhappy. Silphion, realizing he had forgotten his cloak, sighed. Oh well. There was nothing to be gained by being upset about it.

The tall elf stepped out from under the overhang and lifted his face to the rain. The cold water did its work instantly. No fanfare or flash of arcane energy heralded the change. One second Silphion was a tall elf-lord and in the next that figure was suddenly another " a slighter one, and female.

She lifted a hand to pull her hair back, fishing in a pouch at her belt for a tie to keep the silver-white tresses in a loose ponytail at her nape. The uniform that had fit her male form to perfection was not overly large even now. She stood just over six feet even as a female, and while the Warden black was not exactly fitted to this form, it at least looked respectable. Not that it mattered, she supposed. By the time she finished her ride to the library, she was going to look like a drowned rat in any guise.

Smiling at the thought and humming softly, the elf swung herself up into Firefoot's saddle and headed the horse toward the center of Tel'Talim. She felt in her heart that there would be no news of Errik at the dormitory either, but for Lurielle's sake she would hope.

~*~

The Vanya's suspicions had been correct. She had returned to the Hall to inform Lurielle of what she'd learned, which was precious little. Lurielle had taken the news stoically, but Silphion had seen a hint of alarm in her eyes, quickly masked. Realizing that there was nothing much that she could personally do in the matter of his disappearance, she had agreed to Silphion's suggestion that they leave the finding of Errik in the hands of the mages, who could use his belongings to scry for him. She was a little surprised that Luri had not argued, but soon realized that she had even bigger concerns on her mind.

After Jiraen had departed, Lurielle's attention had returned to the journal. When Silphion once more entered her office, she was busy poring over it. When they had settled the matter of what to do about finding Errik, Sil came to stand behind Luri at her desk. The mage rested her hands on the other's shoulders, looking down onto the open journal. Her gray eyes widened.

"What's this?"

"It's the journal of a mage who saw and survived the fall of Myth Drannor," Luri explained a bit distractedly. She pulled a piece of paper from beneath the heavy tome and handed it over her shoulder to Silphion without looking. "Read this."

As Luri had earlier that day, Silphion read the letter from Jena. She frowned thoughtfully. "I guess this means another journey into Rhydin."

"There's nothing more we can do about the scout's death, or finding Errik, right now. Since it's up to the mages now, we should try to get Jena to safety before it's too late."

"It says she'll be staying at the Red Dragon," the taller elf noted as she set the letter back down. "Are you sure you know where to find that?"

Lurielle cast a laughing look over her shoulder, her tension evaporating for the moment. "Oh, I think I can manage."

"I'll grab a shower and a change of clothes," Silphion smiled back, leaning forward to brush a kiss to Lurielle's temple before leaving her alone once more with the journal.

~*~

Unfortunately, Jena was not to be found at the Red Dragon Inn. She had checked in, but she was not in her room and she had not been seen since by anyone who worked there. Lurielle and Silphion exchanged a look at this news, equally worried. The two sat down at the booth they typically shared, discussing what came next. But they did not linger long in the common room. Both felt that too much time had already been wasted, and the sooner they were out searching for Lurielle's old friend, the better it would be.

As the two of them exited the inn, Silphion took in a deep breath of the cooler air and let it out again on a long sigh. The tension that had been building up from being around the crowd inside was released, and she could relax. She looked over toward Lurielle and smiled a bit.

"It's nice to get out of there. But we have a roof to get up to."

While they were inside discussing their options, Silphion had decided that it was possible that she would be able to scry for the whereabouts of Jena. The only problem was that in a city the size of Rhydin, with all its crowds and structures, the results could be imprecise. The higher up they could go, the more of the city they could see, the more accurate Silphion's reading (assuming she could glean anything at all) would be.

Lurielle was no less relieved to exit the bar. She liked it well enough, but when it was busy like tonight, it didn't take long for the constant noise to wear on her. She looked up at Silphion and nodded. "Let's go then. If we go that way I think we'll find some crates where they make the deliveries to the kitchen. It should be easier to climb there."

Silphion, agreeing, went ahead of Lurielle to the alley she indicated. Once they reached the pile of large crates she turned around, holding her hands out to Lurielle. "You go first. I'll help you up."

Lurielle had spent her childhood in the forest of Cormanthor. She was an exceptional climber. With a grin to Sil, she scrambled up without aid, apparently quite at home scaling buildings in the dead of night.

Silphion blinked in surprise that turned to smiling appreciation. The view wasn't bad from this angle " not bad at all. Then, shaking her head to clear such thoughts, she began to follow, using both her height and leg strength to simply jump from crate to crate. In this way, the two of them made it up to the roof. The Red Dragon Inn was one of the taller structures in the immediate vicinity, and they wasted little time in finding its tallest point. Silphion finally stopped and gazed out into the city beyond, stretching further than she could see.

"It's amazing how huge Rhy'din has become. And yet, a little sad with how empty it is, too."

Lurielle stood beside her, also looking around at this new perspective of a city she knew well. One of her hands found Silphion's, lacing their fingers. "Oh, it's not as empty as you might think," she said. "But it's certainly different than it used to be."

As their fingers intertwined, Silphion felt a spark of warmth within her, reaching further than just the palms of their hands. Taking another deep breath, she couldn't help but smile a little and savor the moment before returning to the task at hand.

"Do you have something that belongs to your friend" Besides the letter I mean."

"No, the letter is all I have," she answered. But she was distracted. Something had been eating at her for the past several days, since their reunion, and even though it was probably not the best time, she found that she had to know. She looked up at Silphion.

"Can I ask you something?"

She looked curiously back. "Sure, ask away."

"Have you ever kissed another woman?" she asked quietly, finding the words came with difficulty. "When you were in this form, I mean?" Despite her embarrassment, it was a relief to finally have the question out.

Silphion blinked in surprise, her reactions to the question mixed, but a warm smile finally appeared as she answered, "Yes, I have. Are you curious?"

"I suppose I am," she admitted. "I've thought about it a lot over the past couple of days, considering..." she trailed off. It was obvious she referred to Silphion's unusual curse. "I guess I'm not surprised. I....never have."

Her smile turned understanding, and her free hand came up to gently brush against Lurielle's cheek, lightly tracing her jawline. "Would you like to?"

Lurielle's gaze dropped and she felt a blush stealing into her cheeks. After a moment, she dared a glance up at Silphion through her lashes. "I....Yes. I think I would."

She took two steps down along the roof's slope to stand at a more even level with Lurielle. The clasped hand was lifted, and the free drifted to the tip of the other's chin, lifting it gently.

Luri realized as Silphion drew near that she was incredibly nervous. Her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears and she held her breath. And yet pulling away never entered her mind as Silphion leaned forward that last bit and softly kissed her upon the lips. She kept her eyes open, wanting to see the other woman's face as their lips touched. The kiss was brief but affectionate, and when Silphion broke it off, she drew away only slight, her gray eyes curiously gauging Lurielle's reaction. Her own eyes were wide, and a little surprised, but she didn't look as though she hadn't liked it. Smiling gently, Silphion straightened and kissed Lurielle softly on the forehead before stepping away.

Lurielle trailed after, speaking her thoughts aloud. "It wasn't like I thought it would be."

Taking Luri's hand again, she drew her up until they stood at the highest part of the roof they could reasonably reach. "What did you think?"

"I thought it would be different. I mean, I thought that it would feel differently. But it didn't. I was just kissing you, not a woman. Does that make any sense at all?" She felt incredibly awkward, and hated the feeling. When she realized that she was touching her lips, she let her free hand drop and smiled sheepishly.

Silphion merely nodded. "It does. It's as you said before; whether I'm male or female, I'm still me," she explained quietly. "Of course, that doesn't mean that you like women. You just still like me, and like being kissed by me. For who I am."

Judging that they were likely to go no higher, Silphion stopped and turned, gazing across the horizon again. "This should be fine."

Lurielle considered her words and realized that she was right. But she had needed to find out for herself. Now that she had, she found that it was much easier for her to concentrate on the business that had brought the two of them up here in the first place.

"Will you be able to get anything from the letter, do you think?"

"Her handwriting is all I have to go on. I can do it, but it will take me a while to find her," she responded absently. "If she's anywhere near the tower....up to say....the tenth city block from here, I can find her." She held out her free hand. "The letter, please."

Wordlessly, she handed it over.

Pressing a kiss to Luri's knuckles, Silphion released her hand. Her face hardened into concentration as she took a step forward. She lifted the letter and then released it. The paper began to float in midair, unfurling itself as a blue aura surrounded it, the same blue aura that now glowed around Silphion's silhouette. Without word or gesture, she spread her arms out wide, and began to float up. Waves of magic emanated from her, spreading outward rapidly into the city. Lurielle shivered, rubbing her arms as the intangible feeling of it touched her.

It went on for some time. Lurielle was sitting on the roof by the time Silphion finally descended once more. She had pulled her knees up and hugged them to her chest, chin resting atop one of them as she not only watched Silphion, but watched for any possible threats to her while she was so completely vulnerable.

When Silphion's feet touched the top of the roof once more, the blue glow immediately winked out, both around her and around the letter. She made a quick grab for the paper before it could be carried off by the wind, and finally turned to Lurielle with a grin.

"Phew! Difficult. But I think I know where to go," she stated. With a confident turn, she pointed toward the river docks, seven blocks away. "That way."

They wasted no more time. More slowly then they had climbed up, they descended from the roof of the inn and then began to cross Rhy'din's streets, taking the quickest route to the riverside that they could find. Once they had left the immediate vicinity of the inn, the city became much less trafficked. In this part of town, most of the buildings were residences. Some were homes of the very wealthy, but typical of Rhy'din, just about any style of architecture and level of affluence could be found in the few blocks they walked before the river was in sight. The river itself was a lazy, sluggish thing where it divided the city and flowed into the bay. Luckily, this part of the city did not host many of the more fragrant businesses, and the smell of the river was tolerable, though not always pleasant.

Lurielle had been mostly silent during the walk, but as they neared the river she bent a troubled look on her friend, speaking quietly. "I don't like this. She was supposed to be waiting for me at the inn. I would have at least expected a note."

Silphion had maintained an equally troubled silence. From the letter she had read, she already feared the worst. And she knew that Lurielle, who was confident of her friend's capabilities, was also afraid of the worst. So she said nothing for now. Their walk took them near the building that Silphion pointed out " one of the dockside taverns that sailors typically stopped at while ships were loaded and unloaded. They paused and Silphion looked around, rubbing the back of her head. "Luri, what do you expect to find here?"

Lurielle would have much preferred to talk about what she hoped to find " Jena alive and well, gone to ground until Lurielle arrived to help her face whatever it was that had sent her into hiding. But she was too pragmatic to let hope interfere with reality. After a moment of staring into the dark, pondering, she spoke in a flat voice that had been carefully scrubbed of emotion. "I expect we'll find whatever is left of Jena. Or maybe we won't find anything at all. I'm not sure which is worse."

Her long ears twitched and she began to look about. "Back alleys and the river itself first then." With an air of macabre confidence, the white-haired elf set about the grim work of finding the expected body.

~*~

Since the area was not particularly well lit, the process of searching the back alleys took some time. They moved as quickly as they could in a thorough search that was as unpleasant as it was futile. There was nothing to be found within the radius that Silphion's scrying had pointed out. The only thing that was left was the river.

Where it flowed through the city, the river was contained by high stone walls designed to protect Rhy'din from flood waters. The wall's top was level with the street in most places, with a walkway alongside of it. In this part of the city, the walkway was fenced. At intervals, there were breaks in the fence and stairs that led down to small docks where boats were moored to ferry passengers to and fro across the wide expanse of water.

The two women approached the fence and looked over it, toward the dark water a dozen or more feet below. There was little light to work by, and it would have been an almost impossible task to discover much of anything in the water. But on one of the little docks, two figures were crouched down, prodding at something in the river.

Silphion quickened her pace. Here, she took immediate advantage of the gray and black Warden uniform she wore, and approached the two figures bent over at the docks. "Excuse me!" she called. "Can you tell me what the two of you have found there?"

The two figures were quite a bit smaller than the tall elf. In fact, they were children " street urchins by the look of them, filthy and malnourished. They gave a start of fear the moment they heard the melodic voice with its note of calm authority. When they saw Silphion, they tried to bolt. Since her focus was more for what they had found than the boys themselves, Silphion let them go and moved forward to investigate what they'd been looking at.

Not so Lurielle. She had moved up a few paces behind the taller elf, unnoticed by the children in their instant of terror at what Silphion represented. But when she stood aside to let them pass, Lurielle moved. She was a blur, darting to intercept the children, managing to catch one by the arm and another by his hair.

"Not so fast," she said calmly, without menace. She held them with ridiculous ease until their struggles ceased. They looked fearfully up at Lurielle, but they might have ceased to exist for all the notice she took of them just now. She was watching Silphion. In the water where the other elf looked was clearly a woman's body. It floated face-down in the water, red-gold hair undulating along the surface like a banner in a gentle breeze.

Silphion grimaced at the sight despite being prepared for it. She looked to Lurielle and nodded once before setting to the work of lifting the body up from the river via magic, tools and all.

When the boys that Lurielle had a grip on saw magic being used, they went very still. Now their fear was less for the elf that held them and more for the one lifting the body from the water without even touching it. Round-eyed, they watched and wondered what was in store for them.

The body's movements matched the movements of Silphion's hands. One held up the body itself, moving slowly towards the dock, to lower and set the body down. The other darted out toward the boys, a 'come hither' gesture made with her finger. Lurielle peered intently at the body as it was lifted free of the water and set down gently onto the dock. A flash of pain crossed her features before she ruthlessly suppressed it, moving forward with her charges securely in hand.

"That's Jena."

"Boys," Silphion said, turning to them with a calm smile despite her mood," there's a gold crown for each of you if you tell me what you know about this body. If you help us out, and tell the truth, I'll even see to giving you something extra."

Now this was a language the boys understood. A gold crown each' They looked at one another and a silent communication passed between them. Warily looking back at Silphion, the slightly older looking of the two boys spoke.

"We don' know nuthin much," he claimed. "Jus' now found 'er floatin' when the two o' ye nabbled us....er, Miss."

"She 'ad this on 'er," the younger one chimed in, earning a swift, angry look from his senior. But he had already opened his hand to show a silver pin nestled in the dirty, damp palm.

"Wot?" he demanded from the older boy. "I never told 'em nuffin 'bout the coin!"

The other urchin swore an oath that had Lurielle lifting a brow, then cuffed his junior. A fight would have started on the spot if she had not lifted them from the ground, one in each gauntlet-clad hand, and held them there. She gave Silphion a wry look.

Silphion sighed and gave them a dry, but dangerous smile as she stepped over the body set upon the ground and approached the boys held aloft. Placing her hands on her hips, she looked at the two of them. "That's right, I didn't hear anything about a coin. But if you tell me about it, and what?s been going on here..."

She leaned forward, coming eye-level with the two urchins, and widened that smile, flashing four gold crows with Loreil's stamp at their back. "Of course, I get to keep what you found on our lost lady there. Do we have a deal?"

Dangling from the hands of an elf that didn't look big enough to even hold one of them for long, and yet held two without any visible sign of strain, made the boys' instincts of self-preservation take over. Here was a smiling that had been kind to them offering gold " real gold! - for nothing more than the silver pin and a strange coin they had found. And more money to come, if she could be believed. The older boy nodded first, and the younger one immediately after. Lurielle set them down, but kept hold of an arm on either side.

"She's like a bleedin' giant stuffed into an elf," the older one muttered to the younger. The other boy wasn't saying anything else if he could help it. He just nodded again.

"Wot d'ye wanna know?" the leader asked Silphion warily.

"The pin, coin and everything else you found on her. After that, tell me everything you know about this woman in the past few days....and anyone else that seemed to be following her, too." She passed one gold coin each to the boys, half of the payment promised so far.

In return, Silphion received a silver pin in the shape of a harp and an electrum piece that would have seemed strange to most who lived in Rhy'din, where electrum was rare to the point of being unheard of. Silphion at least recognized the metal, but Lurielle was quite familiar with it. She had relaxed her grip on ech arm now that the boys were cooperating, but one gloved hand still encircled each skinny bicep in a light clasp that the boys suspected could become iron again in an instant. The older one spoke to Silphion grudgingly after snatching the coin, copied by the other boy.

"I already told ye, Miss, we don' know nuthin. We found 'er floatin' there right afore the two o' ye came along. Dinnint 'ave no proper time to search 'er neither."

From what Silphion could tell, the boy was being honest.

"Find out what you can about her then. Specifically, who did the number to her," she said, handing the second gold coin to each of them. "I'll pay you again. You just need to find me or my twin brother near the Red Dragon Inn's tower. I'm sure you can't miss a giant stuffed into an elf," she said with a pleasant smile.

These coins disappeared as quickly as the first had and the boys nodded quickly. Lurielle looked a question to Silphion and, receiving a nod, released the boys. They took off without a backward glance, vanishing into the nearest alley.

As soon as they left, Silphion sighed, standing up straight again with one hand clutching Jena's precious possessions and the other rubbing the back of her head. She murmured a thought that was unintelligible to Lurielle before turning back to her, offering the pin and coin on an open palm.

"Here."

The moment the boys had vanished, Lurielle had turned her attention to the dead body of the half-elf who had been her friend before she even knew what Rhy'din was. She took that items that Sil held out to her mechanically, but it was a long moment before she actually looked down at what she held.

"The Harper's symbol," she murmured, touching the pin lightly. "And an electrum piece from Calimshan." She shrugged and knelt down by Jena's corpse, brushing the wet strands of hair from her face. The face was lined " Jena was quite old now as the half-elves counted years " but she would have known it anywhere.

Silphion turned about to solemnly gaze at the body, and at Lurielle. Quietly she lowered herself down to her knees and slipped her arms around the smaller woman from behind, embracing her gently.

"Don't," Lurielle whispered, and it was as much a plea as a command. She couldn't let herself feel just yet, and to be touched was to feel. She remained stiff in Silphion's light clasp, even though she wanted nothing more than to be able to take comfort in her embrace. She strengthened her voice. "I don't see any marks on her face, and I don't feel anything along her scalp. We'll have to take the body somewhere to examine it fully."

Silphion's eyes closed and she pulled her arms back, letting her hands push against the knees so she could stand once more. "We don't have time for that, Lurielle. I will give you a moment, and then I will cast the spell," she said quietly, and resolutely.

Lurielle felt a flash of anger that she welcomed. It brought in heat that warded her against the ice that seemed to have settled around her making her feel fragile, like she could shatter at a touch. No, the anger was much better. She nodded and replied in a tight voice.

"As you wish."

Despite her tone, her hands were gentle as they moved over the robed figure of Jena. She had been dressed in the traditional clothing of Calimshan, a caftan and hooded cloak, with many scarves and worthless but colorful bead jewelry. It was remarkable clothing for Rhy'din. Her purse had been cut, but Lurielle could detect nothing else amiss. Finally she leaned over the corpse and touched her forehead to the cold one beneath, whispering an almost inaudible prayer. And then she stood and walked a short distance away, her back to Silphion and the body.

The other elf approached Jena's corpse and knelt down before it, almost reverently. She began to work, chanting softly in a mixture of the archaic language of dragons and her own native language. The two blended harshly, but the effects were undeniable. Carefully, Silphion drained the water away from lungs and lips, then began to grant her own life and magic to power the body before her. It was dead, with no soul, but it could speak. It could remember.

After ten minutes of chanting, the corpse drew a breath, chest rising and falling, but otherwise remained unmoving. Silphion's eyes fell half-lidded, her hands holding open the visible and flowing connection of energy between the corpse's body and her own.

"Ask your questions. The body will answer as best it can, based on what Jena knew when she was alive." She deliberately separated the terms 'Jena' and 'the body' for Lurielle's sake.

Luri stood rubbing her arms as she looked down at the corpse. She knew of the spell that Silphion had cast, and had seen it done before. It had filled her with repugnance then, and today was no different. As she stepped back toward them, her eyes were as hard as blue moonstones, staring out from set features. She forced herself to look at the dead, slack face and to accept that no matter what Silphion had done, this was not Jena, before she could speak.

"How did you die?" she finally managed, after a long moment.

The corpse's mouth opened, and though it was Jena's voice that emerged, it was wholly without feeling or inflection. Somehow, hearing that made things easier.

"I was killed," it answered.

"How were you killed?"

"My mind was overpowered. My heart stopped beating."

Lurielle looked at Silphion questioningly. "It will only understand what I say in the most literal sense?"

"Correct," she nodded carefully. "And only what Jena herself would remember. But by the sound of it, a psion got her. Probably the same one." She paused for a moment and then looked down at the body.

"The last week of your life, you intended to meet Lurielle in Rhy'din, after sending a book. What did you want to tell or show Lurielle when she arrived safely?"

"I needed her help," the corpse's hollow voice answered once again. "To find the missing page."

Lurielle nodded. That much had been in the letter that Jena had sent to her.

Silphion paused, trying to think of the best way to ask the next question. She glanced aside to Lurielle, then spoke again. "What did you find out about the missing page before you died?"

"The page is in the library," came the answer.

Lurielle looked across the river in the direction of that building. It wasn't visible from where they stood, being some distance to the southwest. She had been inside its walls more than once since she learned of the existence of the book and the page that was missing from it.

Silphion felt a small measure of dread. She had already taken note that the body was not bloated. It couldn't have been in the river more than a day at the very most. "How long....how long was your mind held tight by the thing that killed you, before your heart stopped beating?" she asked cautiously.

The corpse remained silent. Either it did not understand the question, or it had no idea of how to answer.

Lurielle tried. "Did you tell your killer about the page?"

"No."

"A telepath," Silphion reminded her. "One that's been chasing this book for a while."

Lurielle nodded. "I suppose she could have revealed any number of things without even realizing it."

Silphion nodded and hurried to ask another question. Her strength was fading, the magic needed to sustain the spell fading apace. "Describe the one who killed you."

"He was human. Large. His eyes....power there. Blue, calm water. Arrogant. Cruel."

She remembered! Silphion silently rejoiced. She remembered the face! Holding back her excitement, she continued on. "If there was anyone with him, describe them."

"He was alone."

Silphion nodded once and gave a questioning glance to Lurielle.

She thought a moment, then looked again toward the library. "Where in the library is the page?" The library was enormous. Thousands of books lined its shelves.

"The Purple Dragon," the corpse responded, but the voice was fading and whatever else the dead figure of Jena might have said was lost.

Silphion gazed down and saw that the bright light of energy that connected her hands to the corpse had faded. The lungs ceased to breathe and the body became nothing more than a corpse once again.

Now that it was over, Lurielle turned away again. She felt somehow tainted just by the association with necromancy. She rubbed her arms beneath her cloak, longing for a bath.

"The Purple Dragon Knights," Silphion intoned softly, rising slowly to her feet.

"Cormyr," Lurielle affirmed, unsurprised to find that Silphion's conclusion mirrored her own.

The Vanya gazed aside to the smaller elf and pursed her lips. Her heart was wrenched by the woman's expression, and she knew that there was little she could do right now to make it better. "You head into the library. I'll....see about giving Jena a proper burial with last rites," she said quietly.

"Actually, no," she immediately corrected herself. "I....we need to stay together right now."

"Jena is gone," Luri answered quietly. "The body doesn't matter." But when she forced herself to think like a human, she amended that. "We can take her corpse to the morgue and I will make arrangements for a funeral pyre."

Though she didn't say it, she was glad that Silphion would be at her side. The man that had done this could be anywhere.

"Alright. We'll find one of the city staff to take care of the body. But we should go to the library. Now."

It was the middle of the night, with dawn only a couple of hours off. The library was certainly not going to be open. But Lurielle nodded and started off toward the nearest bridge anyway. Between Silphion's magic and her own determination to have that page in her hand before another hour went by, they would gain admittance somehow.

Their walk was long and there was a heavy silence between the two of them. As they approached the library, there was one who was already working to unlock the front door. A hawkish woman with fogged glasses and a bored demeanor gazed lazily aside toward the two silhouettes that approached.

"I'm sorry, but the library will not be open for another three hours," she clucked.

Silphion approached first, smiling politely at the librarian, who suddenly became nervous at the sight of the black uniform. "Would you allow an exception?" the elf asked gently. "We have an important matter to research before the start of business today."

The librarian blinked, checking again the height of the elven woman who approached her, then again at the ten-point Star that was pinned at her collar. Finally she relented with a "humph," clucking again before ungraciously saying, "Fine. Don't tell me why you're here, and don't let me find you again before opening." She unlocked the door and entered without waiting for the two of them.

As they entered the library, Silphion sighed, realizing the enormity of their project. The Purple Dragons of Cormyr. She knew them by name and association, but. "I don't know where to start," she lamented.

"I suppose we look for books on Toril, or Faerun," Lurielle offered quietly, in a tired voice. "When I was here yesterday, I concentrated on elvish texts. No luck there."

"Well, while we're brainstorming, we might as well look into the biographies of any Purple Dragon Knights who were Harpers," she half-joked, remembering the pin.

"If they have anything like that here, I suppose it couldn't hurt. But the Harpers might not be all that forthcoming about publishing rosters.

"I wonder why she, or Jamand, would have hidden the page in a book about Cormyr, or the Dragons. A hint about the psion' Or something else?"

"Not likely. You asked her where it was hidden, and the Purple Dragon was her answer. You look at geographies and I'll look at histories," she offered, stepping off to a shelf to begin her search. A small measure of help came in her ability to see Lurielle's aura in the dim light of the yet unopened library. She felt the need to keep track of her just now.

Lurielle was pulling any book from the shelf that might have even a reference to Cormyr. When she had a nice large stack of them on the table behind her, she sat down and began to go through them swiftly, often simply shaking to see if anything fell out. Silphion was doing much the same with the histories. The minutes ticked by, until finally Silphion turned a page in an obscure text about the establishment of nations along the Sea of Fallen Stars. A page that looked like nothing else in the book fluttered free. The parchment was fine, thick and well preserved. And unlike the book it had been hidden in, it was illuminated in gleaming silver and gold inks with splashes of vibrant color around the edges.

It took Silphion by surprise. It took all of her facilities to not drop the book and the page at the same time in her attempt to hold on to both. With the book closed and set aside with one hand, she turned and spoke in an excited whisper. "Lurielle! Over here!"

Lurielle came to stand behind her and looked at the page.

"You found it," she said simply.

"It wasn't in anything I was expecting," she replied, slightly confused. But she breathed a sigh of relief. For her, it was the first bit of relief and 'victory' they'd had since the whole ordeal began. She looked at the page in her hand once again before offering it back to Lurielle. She held her questions for later.

"Then maybe we should hold onto the book, too. Just in case. Do you have a library card?" she quipped, with a flash of her usual spirit.

Silphion couldn't help but laugh, earning her the harsh look of the librarian at the front desk. Recomposing herself, she picked up the book in question and nodded. "Yes, yes. Let's go."

The matter of the book was easily settled, and it was not long before they were exiting the library into the early morning light of Rhy'din.