“The spiders wanted her, sang her name,” he muttered quietly. His racing mind was caught between wondering why she was so important and struggling to not care, to keep moving closer to the ruins, to see to his own family. “This is madness.”
“Not… madness…” Brindani said, hissing the last syllable weakly, his reason having returned somewhat despite his many wounds or, Uthalion thought, perhaps because of them “Not madness… a dream… It’s all a dream, Uth… Just an illusion…”
Uthalion drew his attention away from the babbling half-elf as one of the robed figures approached, its longbow used as a white-wooded walking staff in a pale, long-fingered hand.
“Just keep quiet and save your breath,” he whispered in Brindani’s ear as they limped closer to Vaasurri and Ghaelya. “You’re not making any sense.”
“Exactly” Brindani replied and laughed, a wheezing coughing affair that wracked his body and made movement difficult. The sound sent uncomfortable chills down Uthalion’s spine. An unusual, ominous timbre affected the half-elfs voice as he calmed and added, “Not making sense.”
Ghaelya sat cross-legged on the ground, holding her bare head in a white-knuckled grip before inhaling sharply and opening her eyes. Vaasurri pulled away the last of the webbing from her shoulders and gestured at Brindani.
“Will he live?” he asked.
“I suppose,” Uthalion answered uncertainly and nodded at the robed newcomer just strides away. He eyed the powerful bow at the figure’s side and the low-slung quiver just visible beneath the whipping cloak. “But for how long?”
“We can arrest the speed of the poison,” the figure said in a mnst. lv masculine voice, thonffh it could have belonged to either gender. He raised his thin hand, palm up in a seemingly peaceful gesture. “If you will accept our aid.”
Uthalion looked from the newcomer to Vaasurri and to Ghaelya, his sword firmly in his grip as he narrowed his eyes and considered their options. Some innate sense of wrong-ness emanated from the robed figure despite its assistance with the spiders and offer of hospitality. Before he could put together a diplomatically cautious reply, Ghaelya rolled to her feet and retrieved her sword.
“We will,” she answered, sheathing her weapon and glancing at Uthalion. “We don’t have much choice.”
Oh, we do have a choice, Uthalion thought. And we may come to regret this one.
“We must be swift,” the figure said, nodding. He turned abruptly south, offering no further assistance as he swiftly strode to join his companions, calling over his shoulder, “The Tide commences soon.”
“Tide?” Vaasurri asked.
The figure paused, cocking his head curiously for a moment before turning and pointing north hesitantly, as if he gestured to the simple setting of the sun or a heavy rain cloud.
Uthalion glanced back as they limped slowly along to the line of figures. He squinted as the lightning’s brightness increased, as bolts ripped across the sky and ground in quick succession. No rain fell, nor could he smell any on the air, but the unending peals of thunder sounded like nothing less than the crashing surf of a turbulent sea against a rocky shore.
The strange figures disappeared, one by one, into a circular hole in the ground protected by a lid of what appeared to be earth and grass. Upon closer inspection, after their unlikely saviors had all descended, Uthalion noted the door was lined with and held together by long strands of webbing. Vaasurri lifted the edge curiously, studying its construction and peering down into the dark with a troubled expression.
“What do you think?” Uthalion asked.
Vaasurri tilted his head, listening as he turned to face the north. His green eyes were lit by a blue-white light as a sound like ripping paper echoed in the distance.
“I think we don’t have a choice,” he said breathlessly, moving aside as Ghaelya entered the pit first.
Uthalion followed the killoren’s gaze, wincing as the ripping noise grew louder and looked upon a white sheet of wavering flame. Stretching from ground to cloud, west to east across the Lash, an endless wall of lightning lit the gray plains in blue-white fire. It burned his eyes as it rolled across the Lash, igniting azure sparks on the ground as the flowers accepted the monstrous spring storm.
“Mystra’s bloody bones…” he whispered, lowering Brindani down after Vaasurri. With one last look at the Lightning Tide, he closed the trapdoor over his head and crawled down into the dark and the unknown.
Ghaelya found the bottom of the shaft carefully, feeling her way through the dark, and slumped against a curved wall. Little bits of web stuck to her fingers, and she wiped them away on her cloak in disgust, stretching her hands and flexing them into fists. The spiders had almost taken her, and she wondered if she’d have ended up in just another tunnel in the ground, one perhaps that led to Tohrepur. She shivered, much preferring to reach the ruins by her own means and with a sword in her hand.
The others crawled down and joined her in the dark. The chamber’s size and shape was defined only by the sound of their breathing echoing softly against the earthen walls. Their stranse hosts seemed to have moved on. leavin? them alone as the lightning drew near. Thunder rumbled closer, shaking the walls like an army of mountains marching to war. Ghaelya’s heart pounded as it neared, though she was relieved to hear and feel anything besides the singing of spiders and the clinging grip of webbing across her body.
“Spiders…” Brindani muttered sibilantly from his place against the wall. “Spiders… in the dark.”
Before anyone could respond or quiet the half-elf, the chamber shook violently, an explosion of lightning strikes pummel ing the plains as the Tide passed over. Though deafened by the tempest, Ghaelya started to make out details of the chamber as a knotted system of roots overhead glowed with blue energy. The intricate designs reminded her of her own skin patterns as they raced with a burning light.
As she marveled at the brilliant glow, her eyes caught a faint glint of pale green against the far wall, and she slowly made out a figure, sitting quietly in mouse brown robes. She tensed and reached for her blade, but the man never movedhe merely observed her curiously with eyes the color of milky jade. Dust and clumps of soil rained from the ceiling as the lightning passed over, and soon the figure removed his hood to reveal angular, almost elven features. They were touched with a slight, predatory smile that suggested a familiarity With killing and cruelty despite his calm disposition.
“You were brave to face the Lightning Tide,” he said as the thunder faded and the lights dimmed. “Spring is not kind to travelers on the Lash.”
“Who are you?” she asked, her fingers clenching on her sword as she noted the webbing laced across the walls around them. Uthalion was guarded as well, his own blade at the ready as Vaasurri saw to Brindani’s wounds as best he could.
“I am Chevat’teht ti-Skhalles’teht, but you may call me Chevat,” he said, angling his head in a slight bow.
“Fine. Chevat,” Uthalion growled, leaning forward. “Are we trapped here, or is there a safe passage south?”
“There is a passage south,” Chevat replied and leaned forward as well, a delicate finger tapping his chin as he regarded the human. “But I have not yet decided whether or not you are trapped… you see?”
“What do you want?” Ghaelya asked, and Chevat turned, flashing her a sly grin of white, sharp teeth.
“I suspect I only want what you want,” he replied and sat back against the wall, lacing his long fingers across his lap. “I have been very curious to meet ‘the twin.’”
With a sharp intake of breath her blade cleared its scabbard in an instant and leveled on the seemingly amused Chevat as Uthalion followed suit with his own sword. Ghaelya had heard enough of twins from Sefir; she had no intention of letting another monster spout prophecies and blessings without first twisting a sword in its gut.
“The twin… the Prophet…” Brindani’s voice was barely more than a raspy whisper, but it carried through the chamber like the breath of a dragon. Ghaelya pulled away from the half-elfs side, looking at him in shock and horror as he turned darkened, sorrowful eyes upon her. “She who would sing the world into ruin…”
“I see you are not entirely ignorant of the danger you face,” Chevat said, breaking the awful silence that fell in the wake of Brindani’s words. The half-elf looked around blearily, as if he’d forgotten where he was or what he’d been doing, and was overtaken by a coughing fit that wracked his body.
“What do you know of Tohrepur?” Uthalion asked, pressing the point of his sword closer to Chevat’s face.
