could just barely see the gray plane again as he wavered between worlds like a fluttering ghost.
Finally, he might be able to rest.
Slanya’s head pounded with pain, sharp and pervasive. But even so she felt more integrated with her body, more whole. Her vision was no longer fragmented and split into disparate shards. In the quiet of her chambers-, she was acutely aware of the persistent ringing in her ears, but she was confident that it was fading slowly. Her hearing was otherwise keen.
Almost back to normal.
Slanya’s throat was thick with the taste of medicine. She scraped the top of her tongue with her teeth to try to get rid of the bitter anise flavor. Sitting on her straw cot, in the quiet of her small chamber, she took slow, deep breaths and tried to clear her mind.
The yellow light of the late-afternoon sun streamed through the small window opening and warmed her face. Some of the clerics and monks sang evening prayers in the chapel, and she smelled the smoke from the funeral pyre, but it was faint.
In the back of her mind, she knew that further challenges lay in her pathdangerous and full of perilbut for this moment in time, she sought to clear her mind and body. To bring calm and unification, and with that, health and renewed strength, so that she could meet those challenges.
After a few moments of meditation, there was a soft knock on the door, after which it cracked open admitting High Priestess Kaylinn. She wore her daily cleric’s robes, and Slanya noticed that the beige fabric bore fresh bloodstains.
“It’s good to see you awake,” Kaylinn said. Concern was evident in her voice. “I think I’ve done all I can do. The rest is up to you, but you are as whole as I can make you by magic. I also gave you something for the pain. You’ve had a great deal more exposure to the plaguelands than most pilgrims who manage to survive.”
Slanya blinked and noticed that she was absently rubbing the stub of her missing pinkie. So much for order and peace of mind.
“Your spellscar is intriguing,” Kaylinn said. “It’s spread throughout your body like a fishing netconcentrated knots of spellscar connected by a web of thinner, physical scars. I don’t recommend you use your spellscar ability too much. Channeling that much wild magic is likely to tear your body apart.”
“Thank you for the advice, High Priestess,” Slanya said, her tongue still thick with the medicine. “Do you know what it… does??”
Kaylinn shrugged. “You will figure it out.”
“Thank you, Priestess, for healing me. I am indebted.”
“Not at all,” Kaylinn said. “You are family. I think you should know that.”
“I do,” Slanya said. “Of course.”
After a short pause, Kaylinn continued, “I need to speak with you about Brother Gregor. I am concerned that he has lost his way, that his pursuit of personal glory has blinded him to the harm he is causing others.”
Slanya nodded.
“This… pact with Vraith is inappropriate, to say the least. The Order has long supported our presence in Ormpetarr, but the situation with the young man and
Gregor’s elixir… I no longer trust they have our congregation’s best interests in mind. We need to determine if something is influencing Gregor and then isolate him from it, if so. I need your help, Sister Slanya. I need the backing of all clerics and monks of our monastery, especially those loyal to him.”
“I agree with you, High Priestess. I will help however lean.”
There was a knock on the door, and Kaylinn’s eyebrows raised in surprise. She went to the door and opened it a crack, and in the space Slanya was shocked to see the tall slender figure of Tyrangal.
“I must speak with Slanya,” she said. Tyrangal was at least two heads taller than Kaylinn, her long auburn hair shining in the sunlight of the courtyard.
Kaylinn didn’t budge. “She’s in no condition.”
Tyrangal’s gaze softened, and a smile graced her young face. “You’ve done a wonderful job, Priestess.” Her voice grew melodic and convincing. “And lam just going to talk with her. I need to tell her something very important.”
Kaylinn frowned. “Do not try to charm me.”
“I apologize for the attempt,” Tyrangal said, “and merely plead urgency as the motivator. It’s imperative that I have a few words with Sister Slanya, and what I have to say cannot wait any longer.”
Kaylinn made no move to allow Tyrangal into the room. “I have no reason to trust you,” she said. “This is a most unusual breach of protocol.”
Slanya spoke. “It’s all right, High Priestess. I will speak with her.”
Kaylinn’s resolve melted just a little. “Very well, but I will remain here.”
Tyrangal gave a catlike smile. “Of course. What I have to say might be important for you as well.” She strode into the room and looked down at Slanya. “I hope you’re feeling up to some action,” she said, “because we need to rescue Duvan.”
Slanya sat up. “You. know where he is?”
Tyrangal nodded. “I do. He is being held in the Order of Blue Fire headquarters, in one of the underground rooms.”
“Is he well guarded?”
Tyrangal nodded. “Aye,” she said, “but I have considerable resources. My Copper Guard is ready to assist us, but we cannot do it alone. I was hoping that you and a number of your trusted clerics and monks could help us get Duvan out of there.”
Kaylinn interjected, “Why do you want to rescue Duvan? What is he to you?”
“Duvan is my ward,” Tyrangal said. “He is my apprentice, and I am responsible for him. But more than that, Duvan is the only one who can shut down the Order’s plan to extend the Plaguewrought Land.”
“What?” Slanya asked.
“Vraith has developed a ritual that will allow her to move the border of the changelands, and I have no doubt that she’s planning to expand the border until all lands are Plaguewrought Land.”
Slanya remembered the horror of the unbridled Plaguewrought Land, and she shuddered.
“My Copper Guard isn’t large enough to breach their defenses in two places at the same timebesides, we will need your prayers and your magic. Vraith and her inner circle of accordants will be leaving for the festival soon. That’s where my guard will be. We need to get to Duvan, because his resistance to the Spellplague is the only thing that can stop them.”
Slanya thought about it. She wasn’t at all sure about what Tyrangal had said concerning Vraith and the Order. It sounded preposterous and overblown, but she did know that she owed Duvan her life and that she cared for the ornery rogue. She would help to save him.
“I will go with you. Duvan saved my life more than once. It’s time to repay the debt.”
Kaylinn looked at Slanya, her eyes wide. “I never trusted Vraith, and I’ve suspected Brother Gregor to be under the influence of some obsession. Ever since he became spellscarred and convinced me to move us halfway across Faerun, I’ve had my doubts about his objectives.”
“Does that mean you’ll help us?” Tyrangal asked.
“Yes,” Kaylinn responded. “And I think I can persuade a few others to join us as well.”
“Excellent,” Slanya said, invigorated. The pain in her head had receded. She found herself growing excited, and the impending thrill had chased away her craving for calm and balance.
Dizzy and exhausted to the point of delirium, teenage Duvan staggered toward the fluctuating prismatic veil and peered through the haze at the tall waterfall of crystal-clear water. Waves of blue fire pulsed like irregular heartbeats just inside the border here. Thirst clawed at his throat.
How long had it been since his last drink? Days? Tendays? He could not remember.
Since escaping from the Wildhome cage, Duvan had scrabbled and clawed his way across terrain straight from images of the Nine Hells. And now, he scraped his way up steep, bare rock. Pulses of spellplague washed over him, and he ignored them.
Younger Duvan pushed through the oily curtain and emerged into the light. Monochrome purple gave way to
