Koora held out a palm, swept it in a circle while she prayed. Nothing.
Pendaran nodded and turned his attention to the brothers. Adair had peeled back Nairen's lower lip and was pouring the potion onto his brother's clenched teeth. Most of the liquid dribbled down Nairen's chin, a grim echo of the corpse in the drider cavern.
Pendaran lowered his bow. He's gone, Adair, he said quietly. Gone to Shevarash.
The half-elf turned, his eyes dangerous. No.
Pendaran's voice was steely. Yes. He pointed at Adair's spear. Now on your feet, warrior, and grab that weapon. Don't let his sacrifice be for nothing.
Adair hesitated.
Move!
Adair snapped erect. He strode across the cavern and picked up his spear.
Pendaran, behind him, closed his eyes and sighed. His mental voice, however, retained its steely control. We've got to move quickly. Sorrell, keep watch. Koora, conceal the bodies. And Adair… collect your brother. I'll find out where the portal is. He squatted beside the dead female and whispered a prayer. Her lips began to glow with Shevarash's light.
Holding his club at the ready, Sorrell glanced back and forth, trying to keep an eye on all eight of the chamber's exits at once. His eye kept straying, however, to the dark elf he had killed. Now that the fight was over, he noticed the drow's age. Judging by what remained of his face, he looked like a boy in his teens.
As Pendaran questioned the dead priestess, asking where the portal was, Koora walked, slowly and unsteadily, to the body Sorrell had been staring at and prayed over it. The dull glow of warmth that remained in the body winked out as it was rendered invisible. She crossed the chamber, and did the same to the other male corpse. Adair, meanwhile, straightened his brother's body, picking up Nairen's sword and laying it across his chest. Then he pulled from a pouch at his belt a large bag of a thin, glossy material that was as thin and slippery as silk. Opening it, he tucked Nairen's feet inside. It seemed only large enough to accommodate Nairen's lower legs, but it kept going, swallowing Nairen whole. As Adair pulled the drawstring shut, the bag collapsed, seemingly empty once more. Adair folded it, and tucked it back into his pouch. Then he picked up his spear.
He glanced at Sorrell and touched the pouch.
Sorrell nodded. Necessary sacrifices.
Sorrell heard a faint noise. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something in one of the corridors. He whirled…
And saw a tiny figure. A drow child, not even as tall as Remmie. A child whose mouth was open in an O of surprise, whose eyes were wide and fixed on the dead woman whose creaking voice filled the chamber as she answered Pendaran's questions.
'Ma?' the boy whispered, tears starting to spill from his eyes.
The word was the same, in any language.
Sorrell leaped forward and grabbed the boy. He clapped a hand over the boy's mouth. The boy went rigid with fear. Then he began to struggle. And to wail, behind Sorrell's muffling hand.
Shut him up! Adair shouted.
Sorrell glanced up. The half-elf had his spear raised. Sorrell would have to work quickly. Clutching the little boy against his chest, he started to sing. 'Birds have flown home-'
Pendaran scrambled to his feet. I've got it! The portal's close by!
The boy twisted like an eel, nearly slipping free. Do it! Koora raged. The spider kissers' brat will give us away.
I'm trying! Sorrell kept singing: '-to their nests. I know we all could use some rest.'
Pendaran nocked an arrow. Kill him now, or get out of the way.
I'm putting him to sleep.
He's a drow! Adair gritted.
Sorrell continued his song. A moment more, and the child would be asleep. He's a child.
Koora's swift fingers loaded a stone into her sling. He's a spider kisser, she hissed. Vermin.
Sorrell halted his song, glanced from one face to the next. He saw the same emotion on each: hatred. And an utter lack of pity. Had their skin been black, they could have been drow.
The fist of ice that was Sorrell's heart finally cracked. 'No!' he shouted, turning his back on the others, still holding the struggling boy in his arms. 'The boy's not going to give us away. He isn't even old enough to talk ye-'
Koora's sling stone slammed into the back of his head, filling Sorrell's vision with sparks of white light almost as bright as Shevarash's cold white fire.
Almost.
Sorrell shook his head. He rose to his feet, and staggered away with the child in his arms. One step, two… But the pain in his head was too much. He sagged to his knees, still hugging the small boy against his chest. The boy's hair smelled like Remmie's had, brought back a flood of memories. Sorrell stared back over his shoulder at the Silent Slayers, tears stinging his own eyes.
'Please,' he begged. 'Don't-'
Pendaran's bow thrummed. Sorrell grunted as the arrow tore a sharp line of pain through his body.
He felt a soft, startled breath against his hand as it found the boy's heart.
Two figures stood together on a gray, featureless plain, under a sky filled with flat gray clouds. An elf with coppery skin and reddish brown hair, the hand that once held a club empty at his side-and a child with skin the, color of midnight, bone-white hair, and wide, bewildered eyes. The man glanced up at the sky, as if searching for something. The sky remained flat and empty. The man nodded, as if that was what he'd expected. He squatted next to the boy, extending his arms, and said something in a soft voice. After a moment's hesitation, the boy allowed himself to be embraced. A tear trickled down the man's cheek as he hugged the boy tightly. Then he smiled.
The man stood, cradling the boy in strong arms, and began the long, slow walk to the horizon, singing softly as he went.
THE GREATER TREASURE
Eleasias, the Year of the Helm (1362 DR)
Flames rose into the morning air, the sounds of clashing blades projected far and wide, and merchant wagons shied away from the gates. Even from a distance, it was clear that the city of Elversult rocked in dire turmoil.
'This is it?' the cloaked maid asked in her native tongue. Her harsh tone carried not a little disgust- something that sounded discordant and almost ugly in Elvish. 'You believe those bearing the relic are here?'
The bronze-skinned elflord beside her did not bother to reply. Instead, he spurred his horse toward the city, intent on arriving in time to aid.
She followed, albeit much more slowly. As they rode closer, it was clear that only one building burned in Elversult-the great central tower. Battle raged in the air over the city, where a handful of black-robed mages wheeled, hurling spells at a flying lass in leathers, who swatted them like gnats, one by one, with bolts of lightning and flame. On the ground, a band of adventurers fought a dozen men-at-arms, gradually triumphing over impossible odds the way only adventurers can.
As the sun elves rode up to the gate, a great cheer sounded from within the walls. The last of the black robes dived to avoid a storm of animated blades but caught an amber ray full in the chest. He fell to earth, burning.
It was fortunate for the sages who predicted the weather that he had not been above the blade barrier, or it might have been raining that day in Elversult.
And so it was the Scarred Eagles adventuring band defeated the Cowled Skull dynasty of Elversult and Yanseldara-the flying lady with the slaying spells-was crowned in the Skulls' place. Some merchants cheered, some
