You are of the Sign, and a potent defender of it, as I remember it.'
'Delphe ventured into Sildeyuir fifteen years ago and never returned. With that realm's fall, I do not know her fate or the fate of any of her kind.'
Raidon queried, 'And the swordswoman?'
'Kiril and the sword Angul left Stardeep. They reentered Faerыn, and continued on much as they had before. Kiril sold her sword arm to anyone with sufficient coin to keep her in drink and lodging. Eventually, she met up with a previous employer, a dwarf named Thormud. I lost track of her in the change-ravaged Vilhon Wilds. She survived the Year of Blue Fire, but afterward plunged into the heart of an active pocket of spellplague, from which she never returned.'
The monk grunted. Though not definitive, the construct implied the only two pledged Keepers were missing and likely dead.
Raidon persisted, 'You survive.'
'At this time, I am cut off from the world. I can only interact with Faerыn through you and your Sign. I can provide you support, advice, and even transportation on occasion, but I cannot personally enter the war.'
'A war, you say.'
'The conflict has begun. Only skirmishes now, but soon, a wholesale slaughter, when the ancient buried city of Xxiphu emerges.'
The monk walked the perimeter of the boulder's weedy edge, one hand trailing along the rough stone. He was not being impolite, walking away from the golem; its attention was always centered on him. He wondered if he could sever the link. But the name Xxiphu sparked alarm somewhere in his memory.
'Cynosure, I recall that name, but neither you, Kiril, Delphe, or anyone else properly described the nature of Xxiphu and this 'Abolethic Sovereignty' to me. Aboleths have long slunk below the world. What, really, is more terrible about Xxiphu?'
'Two things. First and least, regular aboleth colonies are safely ensconced below the earth, immovable. Xxiphu is different. It is mobile. It may indeed breach to Faerыn's surface, as previous divination revealed.'
The monk nodded. That was certainly a worry. 'And second?'
'Second, Xxiphu contains the original aboleths. These are the progenitors of the race who personally squirmed into the world before it cooled from its creation fires. These aboleths were old when the sun was still young. Xxiphu is the seat of the Abolethic Sovereignty, possessed of a malignancy inconceivable, and ruled by the Eldest, an aboleth of such size its age is incalculable. Certainly it is older than when Abeir-Toril split asunder. If Xxiphu rises and the Eldest wakes, then Faerыn will face yet another catastrophe, this one directed by alien, unfeeling minds that do not perceive the world as you do, or even I.'
The monk didn't respond. Instead, he looked to the southern horizon, his pose noncommittal.
'If that occurs, Raidon,' Cynosure continued, ''many more children than Ailyn will perish in fear.'
The monk sucked in his breath as if a mighty kick had caught him in the stomach. His eyes darkened, and his fists clenched. With no target other than the boulder, the monk balled his hand and assailed it with a thundering strike. The stone cracked, and splinters of rock winged away. His knuckles stung, then went numb.
Raidon hissed, took a lung-filling breath, then dropped both hands back to his sides, outwardly back in control. The pity he earlier felt for the construct was gone. Cynosure was a manipulator first and last, he saw. It said only what it calculated would be most likely to induce the actions it desired. Very well, he would treat it as it deserved.
'You seek to shame me into action, Cynosure?'
'I merely speak the truth.'
'Indeed. I wonder. But, for the sake of argument, let us imagine that I do take up this challenge. What can I do to prevent the rise of the Abolethic Sovereignty?'
'You must meditate upon the Sign that is now part of you. You are not trained in its use, but I can guide you. It can show you that which transpires across the land, what threats now gather, and what you can best do to counter them.'
'You claim much authority.'
Cynosure was silent.
Finally Raidon asked, 'Is the Sign I carry up to this task?' The monk dropped into a lotus position, one suited for meditation.
'The Sign is only as potent as its holder.'
'Then let us hope my training does not desert me.'
The monk supposed the construct attempted a new stratagem with its last statement. As if he were shallow enough to respond heatedly to such an obvious ploy. But Raidon wondered. Regardless of Cynosure's tactics, if anything the sentient effigy said was true, wouldn't it behoove him to help? Unless Raidon chose death rather than continued existence, didn't his honor demand he do as the construct requested? Perhaps he required more information, if only to make a more informed decision.
'Cynosure, I would know more. Tell me how to proceed.'
The golem of Stardeep didn't hesitate in its response. 'Meditate on the Sign. Wake it with your will. Ask it to show you the danger that gathers.'
No novice to meditation, Raidon called upon his focus. He stifled his surprise on discovering his inability to immediately find it. Much had occurred since he'd lost himself in the harmony of a single thought. So he sat awhile, remembering the sensation. A tickle in his brain, becoming smoothness. Distractions dropping away, one by one…
His focus returned. He imagined it as a crystalline lens. He directed its attention upon the unwanted design that blazoned his chest.
He could just discern the symbol's treelike outline, blurry like half-recalled faces of friends long absent. With single-minded deliberation, he compelled it to reveal its secrets.
It revealed nothing.
He was not impatient; he had nothing but time. He continued to observe the image. As they used to say in Xiang Temple, Raidon could stare the paint off the walls, if given the time.
Gradually he noticed discolorations within the lines, smears of gray on black. The blurs became colors; then the colors became shapes. The lines of the symbol pulled away on all sides to become a window onto another place.
Raidon saw a fog-shrouded tower on a small island. Dozens of scaled, fishlike humanoids burst from the water's edge and stormed the tower. Behind them strode two watery crones who chanted obscenities.
The creatures had an aberrant taint. Raidon wasn't sure how he knew that, but he assumed the knowledge was communicated to him by the Sign. Though the creatures were not aberrations themselves, a portion of their spirit was pledged to something abominable.
The fishfolk sought to overpower several defenders who held the tower. The tower denizens included a sea captain in ostentatious dress, accompanied by four humans in ship-scrounged finery; a woman in a body wrap the color of snow; a man with eyes like blood and a cloak so black it seemed more an aura than clothing; a striking young woman as hazy as a dream; and oddly enough, another scaled humanoid touched with the taint of aberration, who stood with the humans instead of its attacking kin.
The young woman with the hazy outline gasped and disappeared before the attackers landed their first blow.
The assault was fierce.
The captain lost his hat in the initial offensive, but his clicking, whirring sword dispensed death each time its damp tip pierced an attacker's scales. Two of the humans in ragged ship's attire fell in the initial blitz.
The cloaked man uttered what seemed more like a plea than a spell. A massive iron crown coalesced upon the head of one of the crones. The prongs atop writhed in metallic agony, and as if stricken mad, the afflicted hag began slaying her own allies. Fishfolk fell dead as her killing eyes raked them.
The woman in white discharged fire and lightning into the invaders' ranks. Her eyes danced, and she yelled with grim jubilation with every enemy she laid low. She destroyed the remaining crone with a blast of fire.
To Raidon's practiced eye, the attackers had woefully underestimated the depth and strength of the tower defenders. The fight was over.
Yet it wasn't over, not really. For Raidon perceived through the Sign-enabled scrying window that the
