Laera opened her eyes, blearily trying to bring the room into focus. In her semiconscious state, she expected to see the familiar wood paneling of the dorm house in Kelethin. Squinting in the relative darkness, she realized that the small sconce on the wall nearby couldn’t possibly be the one in her home.

Then it all came back in a flash, and she suppressed the weary groan that threatened to escape her throat. She silently asked herself why it couldn’t all have been a dream. As her mind came closer to waking, the shadows of her mind vanished until she couldn’t recall what she’d been dreaming.

She felt as though she had been asleep for days. A part of her wished that were possible, but the listless ache in her head told her she had likely been sleeping for only a few scant hours. Though exhausted when she first lay down on her comfortless bed at the Militia house, recent events ran so many circles around her mind that she hadn’t been able to get to sleep right away.

Sleeping in her druid robes didn’t help matters, either. She’d had neither the motivation nor the energy to take them off, and so obstinately tried to make the best of things as she lay there waiting for slumber to overtake her. Now she sorely regretted that lapse in judgment, feeling stifled and clammy in the folds of the heavy fabric. Oh well, she didn’t find the thought of a bath unappealing in the least.

Letting one hand slide out from behind her neck, she rested it on her chest, groggily wondering what time it was.

She glanced down near her feet to see if her brooding companion was awake yet. To her surprise, she found the small cot was empty except for its disheveled pillow and blanket. Her brow furrowing, she glanced around the room to find Dreketh sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back to the soft glow of the sconce on the far side of the room.

Laera sat up straight, the rustling of her robes the only sound in the dark, quiet room. Peering intently, she could barely make out Dreketh’s features. The only light to touch the shadow knight fell in muted, flickering shades about her white hair and blue shoulders, leaving her face shadowed. Her eyes were closed, and her face had undertaken an oddly serene look—quite a contrast to the acerbic expression she usually wore. The overall effect was statuesque, giving Laera the unnerving impression that the dark elf wasn’t even breathing.

“Hello?” Laera’s timid voice broke the silence.

Dreketh drew in a long breath through her nose, her eyes flickering open. Looking up to meet Laera’s dubious gaze, Dreketh raised her eyebrows and blinked once more before speaking.

“Sorry,” she said, releasing her breath. “I was meditating.”

“I thought you might be,” Laera nodded, glancing down at the floor. “I didn’t know your kind did that.”

Dreketh grunted softly as she swiped at her eyes.

“Most shadow knights don’t need to, this early in their training,” she said. “I learned the technique when I was a necromancer.”

Laera pursed her lips together, not particularly enjoying the reminder of her companion’s baneful nature. Not especially interested in what strictures a dark elf chose to adhere to, Laera decided to change the subject.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“I’m not sure,” Dreketh sighed, glancing briefly at the door. “Though I get the feeling the moon rose a few hours ago.”

“Really?” Laera tilted her head curiously. “You can sense the coming of night?”

“No,” Dreketh said, closing her eyes. “It’s just a guess.”

“Oh…” Laera was surprised to discover a pang of disappointment. Somehow she had assumed a creature of the night would harbor some sort of innate sense about it. She imagined traveling with Dreketh was going to educate her about the Teir’Dal far more than she ever wished.

Which brought her to her next question.

“Well, what do we do now?” she asked conversationally.

Dreketh glanced askance at her companion. She had privately been hoping Laera would know. Her attempts at prying any information out of Kella N’Threk regarding what she was supposed to do once she met her counterpart had been less than fruitful. Every time she broached the subject, the old priest began mucking evasively about some trifling matter or other, annoying Dreketh to no end. Ultimately, she ended up leaving Neriak feeling unprepared for what awaited her, holding out a small hope that her future companion would be able to reveal more about their task.

“You… don’t know?” Dreketh asked, loath to reveal her insecurities.

Laera’s face turned similarly cautious. She couldn’t tell if Dreketh’s question was one of ignorance on her part or a comment of scorn that Laera should even be there without knowing what she was supposed to do.

“Well, I-” the wood elf swallowed. “I was told that Tunare would guide me to the correct path, but so far I haven’t received any signs. So, I-”

Dreketh collapsed her head in her hands, elbows resting on her cross-legged knees. That should teach the wood elves to devote themselves to some weak-willed god. She kept her thoughts silent, however, as Innoruuk wasn’t exactly stepping forward to enlighten the matter any, either.

“What’s wrong?” Laera asked.

Dreketh tilted her head to rest in one hand, rubbing her temple as she considered their options. It was obvious that the wood elf was intentionally kept in the dark about the Pact as she had been.

“I think…” she began hesitantly. “We should find out more about this Pact. Unfortunately, the one man in Neriak who knows anything about it is… well… less than forthcoming.”

“Neither was my headmistress,” Laera admitted, staring distractedly at the flame near her own bed. “She kept talking about faith and how Tunare’s chosen should be filled with Her light and not ask such trivial things. She made it seem to make sense at the time, but now that I’m saying it out loud, I-”

Dreketh rolled her eyes, letting out an aggravated sigh through her teeth.

Laera pressed her lips together, not thrilled at the idea of being the object of the dark elf’s mockery.

“Listen, you weren’t there, okay?” she said, a hint of irritation entering her voice. “So check the attitude.”

“At least I have a reason for my ignorance beyond being blinded by my own heedless devotion.” Dreketh placed a finger to the center of her own chest. “My patron is a crazy old priest people take only half-seriously in the first place. I counted myself lucky to even pick up the name ‘Zeranon’ in his muddled ramblings.”

Laera folded her arms, her face burning partially at the shadow knight’s caustic insult, but mostly at the indignity of looking naïve in front of her partner. She wasn’t about to apologize for her faith, no matter how foolish the dark elf made it sound with her twisted words.

Amidst her fuming, a thought occurred.

“What is Zeranon, anyway?” she asked, her brow creased. “Is it a person or place, or what?”

Dreketh cast a glance at the druid, her thoughts interrupted by the Wood Elf’s irksome voice. She was about to make another biting remark when the question sank in, and she realized she had no good answer. She had always assumed Zeranon was a person. The idea that it could be a place or some other expression never crossed her mind.

“It’s…” she pondered aloud. Coming up empty, she cast Laera a blank look. “I have no idea.”

Laera realized she had obtained some amount of vindication in her companion’s eyes for asking the right question. Her demeanor softened as she saw Dreketh’s unknowing expression. In the back of her mind, she wondered why the opinion of this dark elf suddenly mattered to her at all.

“Well,” she said, returning to the problem at hand. “I suppose that’s as good a place to start as any.”

“I think so,” Dreketh nodded absently, her gaze wandering sightlessly about the room as she pondered.

Laera swept her feet over the side of her bed to rest on the floor. Standing, she reached her fists up over her head, arching her back once more. She habitually began her morning routine of limbering up her taut muscles.

“The question now is,” she said, bending sideways, one hand reaching over her head, “where do we go to find out? We’re not supposed to leave each other’s side, so if we went anywhere near Kelethin to ask my headmistress, you’d be attacked on sight by the first elf who saw you.”

“The same would happen to you if we went to Neriak.”

Laera raised her other hand to stretch the other direction.

“Not that I’m all that eager, mind you, but what about the slave hoax we used to get into Freeport?”

Dreketh immediately shook her head.

“That would never work. If someone who knew me saw us together, they’d know someone of my standing would never be able to own a slave, much less a wood elf female. Besides, my instincts tell me the priest would be useless, and to my knowledge, the Pact of Zeranon is never mentioned in any books of the library.”

Feeling much more awake, Laera let her arms drop to her sides. She found herself looking forward to that bath now that the clouds of sleep were banished. She felt a few small pangs of hunger as well.

“So, what do we do?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips in a brisk manner, trying to appear optimistic.

Dreketh took another moment to finish her thoughts before making her suggestion.

“Well, there’s one place I’m certain would have what we need. The library of Erudin holds just about every legendary myth and prophecy ever dreamt of, but that’s a long journey from here.”

Laera’s eyes narrowed, mulling over Dreketh’s proposition.

“They’d let you into Erudin?”

“Probably not,” Dreketh clasped her hands together, her index fingers forming a steeple she placed thoughtfully against her lips. “But I know someone who could get inside for us.”

Laera looked at her companion dubiously, not able to envision what sort of acquaintance a dark elf could have that far west on a lonely island in the middle of the ocean.

Glancing up and seeing the druid’s doubtful expression, Dreketh uncrossed her legs to stand.

“If it’s to be found at all, that library has it,” she said conclusively. “Its archives are legendary as the most complete repository in all of Norrath.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Laera looked at the dark elf balefully. “Suppose the Pact wasn’t meant for any mortal knowledge, and no record of this ‘Zeranon’ exists.”

“I’d find that very hard to believe,” came Dreketh’s retort. “Do you have anything better in mind?”

“I just don’t want to go traipsing across Antonica on the off-chance that some obscure record might exist on an island located in the backwater reaches of Norrath. Even if it did, there’s still the slimmest of chances we’d be given access to it.”

“What happened to the famous wanderlust of the wood elves? I thought there was no land you left unexplored?”

“That doesn’t mean we go poking our heads under a falling axe just because the rings on the tree stump haven’t been counted. The lands between here and there are treacherous—even I know that. And let’s face it, neither of us are exactly journeymen. So, please forgive me if I feel more comfortable heading to places a little more our speed.”

“Fine, then,” Dreketh threw her hands up. “Answer my question. Where do you think we should go?”

“I think we should try talking to my headmistress,” Laera shrugged. “Or even better, that priest of yours. He obviously knows more than he’s letting on. Maybe he’d say more if we confronted him together. Best of all, he’s right here in East Antonica.”

“He’s in Neriak, daft one. You wouldn’t last two minutes after setting foot in Nektulos Forest before a patrol found us and slit your tan little throat, and probably mine right along with it for consorting with a light dweller.”

“Not if you tell them I’m your slave,” Laera spoke succinctly.

“We’ve been through this already. If anyone recognized me, we’d be finished. I’ll say it again—only aristocracy own personal slaves, and slaves from Faydwer are extremely rare. What handful of wood elf slaves that exist in Neriak are so highly valued that only nobility can afford them. Especially females.”

Laera’s skin crawled at hearing Dreketh talk so glibly about members of her race as if they were so much chattel. Doing her best to ignore the shiver up her spine, she cast about trying to think of a compromise that might work.

“That leaves us with Greater Faydark,” she shrugged.

“Seeing as how you wood elves don’t believe in the ‘immorality of keeping slaves,’” Dreketh’s sarcasm was biting, “I don’t see how you’ll explain my presence to those guarding your tree village.”

“You wouldn't have to go up in the trees. There are at least a hundred places I know where you can hide out.”

“And how are we supposed to have our little talk with your teacher if we’re hiding?”

“I’ll find someone to run into the city and bring her to us.” Laera held up her hand, halting Dreketh’s sneer. “Relax, I’m an expert at camouflage, especially in the forest.”

Dreketh held up her index finger.

“All it would take is for one single elf to see this blue skin in the green leaves, and it would be all over,” she said, her voice grave. “Forget it, it’s too risky. Approaching Neriak would be simple by comparison.”

“Why do you think I suggested it in the first place!” Laera’s tone indicated she had reached the end of her patience. “Neriak is the only solution we have left.”

She couldn’t believe she was actually arguing in favor of marching right into Neriak, of all places. Neriak—the heart of the despised Teir’Dal, and wellspring of evil to all respectable lands of Norrath. Still, it was better than finding herself impaled on the end of some creature’s blade on their way through central Antonica. Rumors spread wild in Kelethin about the dangers that abounded there. Memories of gruesome stories told late at night flooded Laera’s mind, resurrecting images of the resulting nightmares she’d had as a child.

Worst of all were the undead. Dreadful rumors were spoken across Faydwer about the recent hauntings of the forests there. She had heard tales of ghouls with glowing eyes and sepulchral voices that echoed eerily from their throats as if coming from deep within a cavernous tomb. Such creatures were said to be invulnerable to any normal weapon, wielding dark spells that captured your soul. Such a fate denied its victim the sweet finality of death as it twisted them into becoming one of the undead, doomed to roam Norrath.

No, far better to take her chances with the living—Teir’Dal or otherwise. Whatever cruelty they could inflict on her, at least her immortal soul was safe with Tunare in the end.

A glint of metal in the firelight caught her eye from the floor next to Dreketh’s bed. Stepping forward, Laera knelt on one knee, examining the polished bronze armor lying before her.

“I don’t suppose you have a helm to go with this?” she asked hopefully.

“No.” The dark elf shook her head. “No breastplate, either.”

Laera glanced up at her companion.

“Do you think we can get one?”

“We’re not going to Neriak.”

Laera stood upright, her face grim.

“Why not? Because it’s not your idea?”

“Because it would be pointless! What we’re looking for can’t be found in Neriak!”

“Are you sure of that? Are you absolutely sure the priest has nothing more?”

“Nothing more than he’s already given me, and he has even less to offer a wood elf.”

“How can you be so sure? How do you know that my presence wouldn’t make a difference in what he might say?”

“Oh, it would make a difference. He’d say, ‘Get this worthless waste of skin out of my sanctum and onto a boat sailing for Odus!’”

Laera folded her arms angrily. This was going nowhere.

“Let me put it this way,” she said, the sudden calm in her voice strained by underlying exasperation. “If we went to Erudin and discovered nothing, what would we do next?”

“If the Pact is mentioned anywhere on Norrath-”

“Humor me. Where would we go to find the answers if we found no mention of it? If you’re correct about the library in Erudin, then there could be absolutely no record of it anywhere else in the world. Correct?”

Dreketh clenched her teeth, already seeing where this was going. Refusing to play along with the druid’s ramblings, she made no comment.

“But,” Laera continued, as if she had, “we know where to find someone who knows at least something of Zeranon, don’t we? And since Greater Faydark is such a high risk, and lies in the opposite direction, that leaves only one place left to go.”

Dreketh turned to glare into mid-air out the corner of her eyes.

“Wouldn’t it be terrible if we had to come all the way back to Neriak from Odus to find our answers, when they were right here in front of us the whole time?” Having sensed her victory in the argument, Laera’s voice took on a mildly smug quality. “I don’t know about you dark elves, but I don’t relish the idea of-”

“You’ve made your point!” came Dreketh’s abrupt response. Rankled, it was her turn to fold her arms as well. “Since you insist on sticking your neck out, we’ll go to Neriak first. Once you’re convinced there is nothing there to find, we travel to Erudin and attempt my plan. Agreed?”

The two elves stood there scowling across the room, a mirror of each other both physically and spiritually. Equally opposite in nearly every respect, it seemed fate had chosen the most unlikely pair to fulfill the Pact of the gods. In the dark, hushed room they stood, their mutual expressions reflected in each other’s eyes.

“Agreed,” Laera said, breaking the silence.

“Good,” the dark elf replied. “There’s just one provision.”

Laera didn’t move a muscle, continuing her dark stare as Dreketh’s features slowly transformed into an evil grin.

“Your bindless status as my slave just took a turn for the worse,” she said wickedly.

“What are you saying?” Laera shook her head irritably. She was in no mood for the dark elf’s self-satisfied display.

“I’m saying you’re no longer a slave, but my captive. No wood elf slave would be allowed to roam Nektulos with some underling soldier, or anyone for that matter. They’re too valuable. Therefore, I captured you in Faydwer and am willing to sell you to the highest bidder on the auction block. That’s the story.”

Laera’s expression turned to outrage.

“You… can’t… be serious,” Laera said with a growl.

“It’s the only way to get you past the guards,” Dreketh shrugged. “Getting you out again is the difficult part. I’m hoping the temple will have an extra suit of armor for you to wear. By the time word gets around that a real wood elf is soon to be brought to the auction block, we should be long gone.”

“Not a chance, inkie. I’m not going into Neriak bound in chains!”

“And gagged.”

“Forget it!”

“Fine, get enough provisions to last you until we make it to Odus, then.

Laera’s resolve wavered. What just happened? How did this Teir’Dal turn her victory into such a sudden defeat? It was obviously a sign of their inherent treachery. She made a mental note to be more on her guard when talking to Dreketh from then on.

Her nostrils flaring with every breath, the druid broke her gaze with her companion.

But that was the future. What of the moment? Taking a leisurely jaunt into the heart of darkness was bad enough on its own. As much as the idea made her cringe, it was something she saw as a necessary evil. But to be paraded in chains among all those gloating blue-skinned faces, bound and humiliated before their malevolent eyes, made her heart stop. A part of her almost considered taking the trip to Odus after all.

Almost.

Chapter 7 - Neriak