Two pairs of eyes peered into the darkness of Nektulos Forest from the relative safety of the thicket.

Laera couldn’t believe she was actually looking upon the fabled Nektulos—the place where no light dweller ventured. At least, no ordinary light dweller. It was rumored that a few members of other races besides the Teir’Dal lived there as well, though she couldn’t fathom under what circumstances they were accepted into dark elf society.

The wood elf’s first glimpse of the forest took her by mild surprise. She imagined she might have mistaken it for Greater Faydark had she stumbled across it unknowingly. Save for lacking the towering trees of her home that rose hundreds of feet into the air, Nektulos possessed some very familiar qualities. The grassy forest floor, the mist-filled air, the ever-present sounds of the forest creatures all rang true to her.

However, she did, in fact, know it was Nektulos she was looking at, and the sense of power surrounding the place made her blood turn cold. Somehow the forest seemed darker than the Faydark. More sinister. Evil. Occasionally she would see a red-coated dark elf running amidst the trees, apparently searching for game to hunt. It put her teeth on edge, knowing she was surrounded on all sides by Innoruuk’s legions. And there she was, a simple wood elf druid alone among them.

Well, she supposed she wasn’t entirely alone. This dark elf crouching beside her—while not her first choice of trusted companions—was her only lifeline to the outside world. Under any other circumstances, she wouldn’t trust Dreketh to give her the time of day in a gnomish clock factory. Yet there she was, relying on this Teir’Dal for her very life as she aimed to enter the dark elf city of Neriak.

Things could be worse, but not by much. At least she’d had the chance to bathe before they left Freeport that morning.

Having stashed away her druid robes, Laera now wore the odd assortment of patchwork Dreketh had purchased for her. Seeing as how the workmanship of Rigel’s tunic would be too fine for a captive slave, she decided it would be best to keep it hidden in the bottom of her pack for safekeeping.

It nearly cost them every piece of platinum they had, but they also managed to procure a bronze helm that loosely matched Dreketh’s armor. Lowering the visor obscured her features well enough to hide her identity, alleviating any fear of being recognized.

Glancing next to her, Laera noticed Dreketh’s calm demeanor as the dark elf craned her neck. Holding her new helm in her hands, Dreketh peered intensely into the mists, glancing around as though searching for something.

“What is it?” Laera asked in a whisper.

“Nothing,” the dark elf replied, still glancing about. “The guards patrol this route. I’m just waiting for one to show up. If we wandered out through the forest and came across anyone in the slave market, there would be very little stopping them from simply taking you from me and selling you themselves. At least with a guard escort we’ve got a clear run through the forest to Neriak."

Laera’s heart pounded feverishly at the prospect of actually being sold into slavery. She had no idea what Neriak was like, but she knew spending the rest of her life under the Teir’Dals’ thumb would be an excruciating fate.

No, she thought to herself. Tunare set her on this course and would protect her. She had a calling to perform. Everything would be all right.

“Good, there’s one now,” Dreketh spoke in a muted voice. “Not a dragoon, but an officer, so he can probably be trusted. It’s time now. Come on, we have to hurry.”

Her heart sinking, the wood elf resignedly placed her wrists together in front of her so the dark elf could begin binding her hands with a leather thong.

The dispirited druid knew this time had been fast approaching, and met it with revulsion. Since they first entered the canyon leading in from the Commonlands, Dreketh had been nagging her to submit to the restraints in case anyone caught sight of them. Laera refused, saying if things went wrong, she needed to be able to make a quick escape. After yet another ensuing debate in a long stream of debates they’d already had that day, it was agreed that Laera would wait until the last moment before being fettered.

Working with quick hands, Dreketh bound the wood elf’s wrists together tightly. A small chain further restrained her hands to a collar fastened around her neck, placing the druid in a position of imposed supplication, as if she were begging or praying. Finally, Dreketh restricted Laera’s elbows to her sides with a hemp cord wrapped repeatedly around her torso.

The dark elf’s touch as she went about her task sent a loathing chill through Laera. The careless, alien touch of those blue-skinned hands felt entirely unnatural as they yanked on her restraints, making them snug enough to satisfy any close inspection the guard might perform.

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” Laera muttered, preparing to stand. Looking out, she saw the guard was still a fair distance away from their hiding place, but fast approaching.

“Not quite,” Dreketh said.

Laera glanced over at the dark elf, her eyes widening at the sight of a small cloth handkerchief resting in her companion’s hand.

“I said no!” the druid whispered piercingly.

“And I said no slaver worth their weight in ogre brains would ever hold a captive who could bring down the wrath of the world on them by yelling for help. Now, do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?”

Laera made a perfunctory pull at her bonds, which were unrelenting. Silently she cursed Dreketh’s skill at binding her, not to mention dark elf guile in general.

“We agreed, inkie!” the wood elf growled angrily through clenched teeth.

“I lied,” Dreketh shrugged, nonchalant. Standing, she began to stuff the handkerchief in her companion’s mouth.

“You lying troll wharfgarrfmmm-” Laera’s livid words were lost in the shadow knight’s quick-handed skill in tying the gag securely. The helpless druid couldn’t stifle her yelp as the handkerchief was yanked into place, a few strands of her auburn hair having been caught in the knot.

Seeing the guard stop suddenly at hearing the muffled sound, Dreketh roughly picked up the wood elf and shoved her into the open road. Laera stumbled, but managed to retain her haphazard footing. She glanced in defenseless panic at the approaching guard, like a crippled animal about to be slaughtered.

Before the guard was able to draw his sword, Dreketh went into action.

“I said quiet!” she yelled from the brush. Stepping out onto the road herself, Dreketh approached her “slave” with a hand on her sword. “I’ve had enough of your constant whining! You’re fortunate I don’t-”

Turning, Dreketh made as if to see the guard standing there for the first time.

“Lieutenant,” she said, turning respectfully from her “prisoner” to address the guard. “Thank the gods you’re here. I need an escort to the city entrance.”

“By the Father’s hatred, what have we here?” the lieutenant spoke from inside his helmet. Stepping forward to stand before Laera, he reached out to take her jaw in his armored hand. “As I live and breathe, a real wood elf female. You caught her?”

Dreketh closed her eyes and nodded, acknowledging the guard’s question with a self-satisfied smirk gracing her features.

“It took some doing,” she said, tossing her white hair back conversationally. “These puny things are deceptively cunning in their attempts to get away.”

“Notoriously so,” the lieutenant agreed, distractedly returning his attention back to the wood elf. “Is that how you lost your chest piece?”

Dreketh glanced down at her mismatched leather tunic amid the otherwise full suit of bronze plate she wore.

“She had… friends,” she said, trying not to sound as though floundering for words. “It was a furious battle that ended in one of their deaths by the Touch. I caught this one as she fled behind her cowardly comrades. I saw the opportunity, so I seized it.”

“Couldn’t have been too difficult,” the guard muttered, his eyes tracing Laera’s unblemished features closely. “She seems no worse for wear.”

“She’s a druid,” Dreketh responded quickly, a note of arrogance belying her tension. “I had her heal the cuts and bruises of her futile struggle. It wouldn’t do to have her on the auction block all battered up, now would it?”

The guard inspected Laera’s restraints.

“She did that while bound, did she…?” he said, suspicion returning to his voice.

“Relax, I had her under my full control the whole time,” Dreketh said, deliberately adding a touch of incense to her voice. “At the time, I saw no reason to have her bleed all over me as I brought her in, but since you’re so keen…”

Dreketh raised her bronze-booted foot and thrust it into Laera’s midriff. Doubling over, the wood elf’s face met with Dreketh’s gauntlets as they pulled up, sending her sprawling backward. Powerless to retain her balance under her partner’s unexpected assault, Laera fell with a muffled shriek to the road in a billowing cloud of dust.

The world spun around her head as the wood elf tried to recover her dazed senses, the warm, wet feel of blood meeting her lips. An abrupt wave of nausea swept over her, and she lay there on the ground unwilling to move as she waited for her vision to clear.

Laera’s only coherent thought was that she’d been betrayed. Pact or no Pact, she was a fool to trust in a Teir’Dal. What was she thinking? The depth of her naiveté sank into her like a dagger.

Somewhere out of the swirling maelstrom surrounding her, a hand brutally took hold of the hair at the top of her head, pulling her upright to lean against something cold and hard.

“There, she’s a mess again. Satisfied?” a female spoke. Laera heard the words, but couldn’t reason out what they meant.

“Fine, you made your point,” the guard’s careless voice wafted its way to the wood elf’s ears.

“Now sit up, weakling.”

Resting limply against Dreketh’s bronze armored thigh, the wood elf’s eyes rolled dazedly. The pull on her hair increased painfully until she scrambled her legs to provide the support needed to take her weight off it. At last, the world righted itself and she managed a tenuous hold on her balance, resting on both knees at Dreketh’s feet.

Finally getting a grip on her senses, she felt the trickle of blood running unchecked from her nose to her gagged mouth. She tried to reach up to wipe it away with her hand, but was quickly reminded of her bound state. Unable to reach her face, she helplessly let the blood mar her features.

Watching the scene unfold before him, the guard stood silent, his expression hidden behind the faceplate of his helm. Dreketh turned to the guard evenhandedly.

“Now then,” she said, her lips curved in a crooked grin. “As I said before, I’m requesting an escort to the city gates. My prize is too valuable to risk on the dangers of the forest, not to mention the competition.”

“So it would seem,” the lieutenant grunted. Removing his helm, he eyed the reticent druid. “I haven’t seen a wood elf slave brought in since the last one died during his conditioning several months ago. A pity they’re so fragile.”

Laera idly wondered who that poor wood elf might have been. Her thoughts wandered painfully close to Rigel. It could have just as easily been him or another friend of hers, and here were these callous Teir’Dal talking about his death as if he were livestock.

“So, what are you saying?” Dreketh’s gruff tone intruded.

“I’m saying this race is brittle,” the guard continued in a glib voice. “Few survive their conditioning, and those that do are highly valued. You know it and I know it. And to top it off, this one’s female. Assuming she survives, you stand to easily make her weight in platinum.”

Dreketh folded her arms, frowning darkly.

“How much do you want?” she muttered.

The guard made a show of consideration as he sized up the wood elf.

“I’ll take half,” he said finally.

“Forget it,” came Dreketh’s immediate response.

“Fine by me,” the lieutenant shrugged, turning to take his leave. “I’d keep an eye out for those kodiaks in this area, if I were you. They can be a real nuisance to a novice slave hunter who chooses to tempt fate even more than she already has.”

Looking around with an angry expression clouding her face, Dreketh’s mental reckonings were apparent.

“If I wait here another ten minutes, I’ll find someone else who will help me out for a fraction of that,” she said.

“Fair enough,” the guard said over his shoulder. “Here’s hoping they don’t decide the whole pie is better than a slice of it.”

“Wait!” Dreketh’s eyes shot daggers at the lieutenant’s back. Her arms still folded, she sauntered her way to the halted guard. Biting her lip, she slowly rounded his shoulder to look him in the face.

“A third,” she said, sighing. “No more.”

The guard glanced over his shoulder at the wood elf kneeling in the middle of the road behind him, her arms tightly bound. Though blood now sullied her downcast face, he remembered clearly her pure, attractive features during his earlier examination.

“A third and a week,” the guard grunted.

“A third and a day, final offer,” Dreketh countered.

“You can call it final when I slit her throat right now.”

“You do that and every dragoon in the Indigo Brotherhood will know about your little extortion enterprise you’re running on the side.”

The man’s expression froze grimly in place, his eyes searching Dreketh for any sign of a bluff. The shadow knight’s features remained stone cold, her aspect truly one to be expected for a denizen of the dead.

Dreketh had seen guards barter before, and none displayed this much savvy in negotiating a price. His demands bordered on blackmail, and the only explanation was that this particular lieutenant was dealing in something on the side—a practice devoutly forbidden by the city guard. In typical Teir’Dal fashion, conflicts of interest were dealt with swiftly and severely, regardless of rank. In an act of desperation, the shadow knight decided to go with her instincts and play this gamble.

“All right, let’s make this quick,” the guard relented. Raising a finger before Dreketh’s face, he spoke tersely. “And I get my day before her conditioning, not after. If she doesn’t survive, I’ll not bed a corpse.”

Dreketh blinked languidly, coolly shifting her icy gaze to the wood elf over the lieutenant’s shoulder. At hearing his demand in so many words, Laera’s downcast face had upturned in alarm, her face on the verge of panic. Dreketh saw a pleading fear in the depths of her eyes, far transcending whatever fear she’d shown previously at the mention of her conditioning.

A sneer crossed Dreketh’s lips. Returning her gaze to the lieutenant, she nodded once in agreement to his terms.

Without pause, the guard turned and began stalking down the road back the way he came.

“Get up, whelp,” Dreketh barked, taking Laera by the shoulder to aid in standing. “We’ll clean you up once we’re inside.”

With her captor’s assistance, the disheartened wood elf meekly complied.

Their trip through Nektulos remained uneventful. Whatever dark, threatening creature that happened to cross their way fell to the blade of the guard within moments of its appearance. Several blue-skinned bystanders cast Laera forbidding looks as they watched the bound and beaten wood elf traipse her way under Dreketh’s firm, controlling hand. Apparently the arrival of a new elven slave was not a common sight.

The confused druid took the time to try and reason through recent events. A part of her was no longer certain this was a charade. Dreketh’s unexpected assault, rough handling, and ardent bargaining all suggested that she was truly a captive of this dark elf shadow knight, about to be sold for a veritable fortune.

On the other hand, that might have been the point all along.

Still, if Dreketh were willing to go to such lengths to deliver a convincing performance, exactly how far did she expect Laera to go? How much of their negotiations were real, and how much was pretense? What was she supposed to do once they arrived at the city? So many questions raced through Laera’s throbbing head, but she couldn’t voice them in front of the lieutenant as he led their way through the dismal forest.

Even without the guard, her gag made any protest futile. The only thing she knew for certain was that she was frightened, and became increasingly so as they made their approach to the dark elf city.

All too soon, the grim entrance appeared before them as the trees gave way to a small clearing against stone cliffs. In the distance stood a yawning pentagon-shaped cave in the mountainside, surrounded by gray stone rubble strewn about. Illuminated in its grandeur above the cave was engraved the sinister emblem of the Teir’Dal, carved to gigantic proportions from the living rock of the mountainside.

The spectacle was breathtaking on many levels, but none more dauntingly so than for the wood elf being led there.

Glancing down to the grounds before the entrance, Laera found it littered with dozens of the Teir’Dal horde. Her breath catching in her throat, she met the sight with terror-filled eyes. So many dark elves. So many blue-skinned bodies in the same place, all at once cursing the rest of the world. The evil and hatred before her made her want to turn and run as far as her feet would carry her until she reached the sanctity of her own woodland home, or until a Teir’Dal arrow impaled her through the back. Either way, she would not have to enter that abominable place.

Wishes notwithstanding, her captors led her relentlessly toward the city entrance. As the three of them advanced, more and more eyes turned their way expectantly. Apparently, word spread rapidly among the throng that a new and rare slave was about to be delivered. Another light dweller was about to be put under the mighty heel of the Teir’Dal, and she approached even now.

By the time they reached the outskirts of the crowd, all present eagerly awaited their arrival. Voices rang out in a cacophony of taunts and cheers as the dark elves unanimously celebrated the sight of a torn and beaten enemy being paraded before them.

Dreketh quickly donned her bronze helm and drew her sword, presumably preparing to defend her prize against he growing crowd.

The lieutenant, too, assumed a confrontational stance as he took up the onerous task of clearing a path though the crowd before them.

As they made their advance, Laera felt something cold and wet strike her shoulder. Turning, she caught a glimpse of a snake’s egg moments before it struck her in the forehead, its slimy innards seeping over her eyes. Yet another unidentified object hit sharply against Laera’s back. And another. Soon all sorts of items—both hard and fragile—came hurtling her way.

Dreketh cursed a peevish oath under her breath. Taking a firm hold across the wood elf’s midriff with her arm, she bent forward, shielding Laera as best she could with her own body. The heavier objects that could do her serious harm bounced harmlessly off the shadow knight’s armor, each sharp clang ringing in the druid’s ears as she imagined what such an object would have done to her had it found its mark.

What started as a procession of victory transformed quickly into an angry mob. The rare sight of a wood elf among them sparked the pent-up ire of the Teir’Dal, her presence vividly reminding them of the many deaths suffered by their relatives and comrades at the hands of her kind.

Coming together in a resonance of hate, the crowd joined together in a chanting of Teir’Dal words Laera couldn’t understand, but could guess at their meaning. Wincing with the blow of every telling object hurled at her, she weaved her way through a gauntlet of hands reaching out to grab hold or shove her about. Occasionally, she caught vulgar curses being shouted in the common tongue, swearing bitter vengeance to bring misery upon all her kind.

The evil she had seen from afar only moments ago surrounded her now on every side with a wicked life all its own. Never before had she been witness to such a seething mass of hatred that burned with such uncontrollable flame. Everywhere she looked seemed to be the scowling blue face of some dark elf bent on causing her pain. Every sound was a curse in defiance of her right to exist. Hatred raged unchecked in every direction—a raucous and gruesome hymn sung by every voice in dark praise to Innoruuk’s glory.

Closing her eyes, Laera screamed out loud, her gagged voice becoming lost among the drowning clamor. The universe exploded until all seemed to join in to sing that discordant, unholy hymn to the Prince of Hate.

More hands grabbed hold of her, roughly dragging her along. In the chaos, she lost track of Dreketh’s firm, reassuring grip, unable to tell if the shadow knight was even there anymore. Bereft of rationale, the wood elf collapsed inward, trying desperately to deny where she was and the presence of those around her. She denied the shouting voices. She denied the multitude of grasping hands. She denied the very existence of the Teir’Dal race, even as every sense she possessed told her she was wrong.

After an eternity had passed, the bedlam finally began to wane. The whimsical light of day was quickly squelched, and the wood elf druid suddenly found herself engulfed by darkness. Opening her eyes, she glanced around to find the crowd of hateful dark elf faces replaced by tremendous walls of solid rock. No trees, no grass, no sky. Only cold, heartless stone surrounded her all about.

Two additional guards had joined their number and taken her into the shaded recesses of the cave entrance. Glancing behind her, she saw the daylight fade away as she was taken deeper into the passage.

Laera shriveled away from everything around her. Crying out as best she could through the gag in her mouth, the wood elf began to struggle with her captors. Her fear of her surroundings, coupled with the fact that she had never experienced being inside such a confining cave before, awakened an irrational panic within her that clouded her mind. The walls were closing in. The mountain was surely collapsing on top of her. She had to get out! The air was stifling—unbreathable. In a fury, she began gasping for breath through flaring nostrils.

She cried out a second time as the rough hands of the new guards joined in trying to subdue the hysterical wood elf. Hands—blue, alien hands—clutched at her, trying to keep her down, holding her prisoner in this forsaken dungeon they called their home. It was unnatural. Every fiber of her being screamed for her to break loose and return to the outdoors, whatever the cost.

“Stop it!” Dreketh shouted over the din of the wood elf’s cries as they echoed about the stony walls.

“Get her inside! Hurry!” the lieutenant ordered in an urgent voice.

Reacting quickly, the dark elves each took a firm hold of Laera’s flailing legs and literally carried her further down the ominous cave. The wood elf’s hysterics increased to a terror-filled frenzy at being forced deeper into the blackness, leaving the beloved light of day farther behind with each passing moment.

Just when Laera thought she might pass out from the anxiety, they burst from the passage into a towering cavern. The ceiling was lost in darkness, the walls rising high above. Before her stood a fortified wall made of what seemed to be black granite stone in the firelight. All was dim and gloomy around her, lit in small areas by the occasional flame.

Dreketh and the guards placed her down to the rocky ground to rest against the cavern wall, allowing the frantic druid to lay her feverish forehead against the cool rock, collecting herself. The air remained thick and stifling with a moist, fetid smell of decay. Though she still knew the mountain enveloped her on all sides, Laera paid it no mind. At least now there was room to breathe. The walls were no longer closing in. Gasping deep breaths of relief, Laera thanked any god who might have been watching that she was out of that damnable passage.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Dreketh said from the depths of her helm, trying to catch her breath from her own exertions.

“Certainly, sister,” replied one of the guards.

“Allow her to rest here a while and she should be no more trouble,” the lieutenant said in a low voice.

Still panting, the shadow knight cast a questioning look through her visor at the lieutenant.

“How is it you knew she would calm down once we got inside?” she asked.

“You do this enough times, you come to expect it with certain slaves you bring in,” he assured. “Especially her kind.”

“Not that you’ll have many,” added the third guard, obviously impressed by Dreketh’s prize.

“The crowd will need dispersing,” the lieutenant barked in an officious tone. “Best return and help N’Farre before things turn ugly out there.”

Wearily saluting, the two subordinates turned to reenter the passage, and disappeared around the corner. The lieutenant turned and pointed a gauntleted hand deeper inside the cavern as he addressed the shadow knight.

“My tenement lies beyond the foreign quarter in the commons,” he said in a businesslike voice. “Take her to the escarpment door on the left hand side and follow the stairs up. I will be there after my shift ends. Two hours.”

Dreketh stole a glance at the collapsed druid lying huddled against the cavern wall next to her. Though her companion had calmed down considerably, she was evidently oblivious to the conversation at hand, judging by her lack of reaction. Thinking back to the forest road earlier, the shadow knight remembered the look of stark terror across the druid’s face at the mention of their arrangements with the lieutenant.

For some strange, intangible reason, Dreketh felt as though her commitment to the Pact was being tested. Swallowing, she returned her gaze to the lieutenant, vainly trying to determine what his expression might be within the confines of his helm. Searching closely for any unusual signs, she found none. Perhaps it was just her imagination.

“I’ll take her to a healer first,” she said. “I don’t imagine you want ‘damaged goods’ during your day with her.”

“She’s a druid,” the lieutenant shrugged. “Let her own feeble god of nature heal her.”

“Look at her, fool,” Dreketh made an impatient gesture at the wood elf. “She’s spent. I don’t think she could heal a scraped knee if she tried.”

“Alright, fine,” the lieutenant snapped. “Take her where you like. Just make sure she’s in my quarters by nightfall, or you’ll be answering to the whistle of my blade, and not an auctioneer. Understand?”

Dreketh tossed a flippant hand at the guard’s threats.

“Relax,” she said with obvious distaste. “You’ll have your precious day.”

Nodding without further comment, the lieutenant turned and marched back down the passageway, his metallic footfalls gradually fading as he went to join his comrades outside.

Dreketh sighed and glanced around the cavern as she removed her stifling helmet. Shaking her hair out, she took note of the guards at the gates below as they watched vigilantly in the quiet distance. At least it was daytime and most of the inhabitants were either asleep or hunting daylight creatures. Fortune was on their side, for they would likely have had to deal with another angry mob waiting for them inside the city walls.

She turned her gaze down to the reticent wood elf at her feet. Leaning down, she placed a steadying hand on Laera’s trembling shoulder and loosened the gag with her other hand.

“Are you all right? What in the name of Zek was that all about?”

Laera worked her jaw and shook her head to allow the gag to fall from her mouth.

“I don’t know,” she said in a timid voice. “After all the shouting and the faces and the grasping hands, I… I couldn’t handle it. Afterward, I was sure I was going to be crushed to death in that tiny cave.”

“What are you talking about?” Dreketh’s voice was rife with skepticism. “You were fine in the Tunnel of Ro.”

Laera closed her eyes and turned to rest her back against the wall. The wood elf’s once placid complexion was marred by blood and refuse, matching the overall state of the rest of her body.

“That tunnel’s much larger,” she said breathlessly. “And I knew I could leave at any time. You and your thugs forced me down that twisting maw, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Well, pull yourself together,” Dreketh spoke tersely. Glancing down at herself and seeing her own unkempt condition, she began to brush the mob’s filth away with a perfunctory hand. “It amazes me how otherwise civilized people turn into such animals once they get into large groups.”

Raising a hand to her bruised and bleeding forehead, Laera diffidently covered her soiled face.

“Just let me rest a moment. I need some air.”

“Fine, but make it fast.”

Laera glanced a piercing eye up at her companion, swallowing as though doing so pained her.

“Why?” she asked accusingly. “So you can deliver me into the bed of that degenerate in a uniform?”

Dreketh rolled her eyes in frustration, to make an appealing gesture at the unseen ceiling above.

“What is the problem!” she asked scornfully. “Wood elf promiscuity is almost as legendary as rabbits! Is it because he’s a dark elf? Are we so repugnant to you?”

“You have to ask?” Laera gestured angrily with her chin toward the passageway leading to the crowd outside.

“Don’t give me that,” Dreketh shot back. “I saw it in your face. You were panic-stricken long before the crowd got to you. Even more so than the prospect of facing slave conditioning. Now what is it? Talk!”

Laera sighed, casting her gaze anywhere but her dark elf companion. Taking a swipe at the bleeding corner of her mouth with her tongue, she considered her words carefully.

“It’s…” she hesitated. “I’ve just… never done that before.” Embarrassed, the wood elf glanced up sheepishly, seeing the shadow knight’s face plainly astonished.

“A wood elf…?” came Dreketh’s aghast response.

“It never came up, all right?” Laera snapped hotly.

“I’ll bet it didn’t,” the dark elf replied glibly. An amused, crooked grin worked its way across the shadow knight’s normally dour lips as she leered down at the wood elf.

Laera’s tan features flushed a hot crimson beneath the muck on her face. Gripping her bound hands together, the druid silently pressed her lips into a thin line.

Dreketh glanced furtively over her shoulder, measuring the scrutiny of the guards at the gate below. Judging by their aspect, she estimated they had a few minutes to spare before things turned restless down there. Leaning down, she sat cross-legged before the forlorn wood elf, blocking her from their view.

“So,” she said, clearing her throat. “Is this by choice, or does your goddess forbid it of Her faithful servants?”

The druid looked up sharply at the dark elf’s face, thinking she was being taunted for her beliefs yet again. Finding an unusual look of sincerity in Dreketh’s expression, she bit back her coarse retort and looked down into her lap. Reaching up, the wood elf wiped at the dried blood below her nose with the heel of her palm, trying her best to clean herself up a little as she spoke.

“No, I told you already,” Laera said sullenly, “the opportunity just never came around. Tunare is the Mother of All—She is the bringer of life to Norrath. She would never frown on a true, devout act of coupling. Such a thing is to beg of Her the chance of bringing a new life into the world.”

Stealing another glance at Dreketh, the wood elf saw her companion’s face carefully devoid of expression. Figuring it was safe, she continued.

“It’s true, most wood elves my age have found someone to fulfill their desires at least once. To most of my kind it’s a lark. It’s nothing less capricious than any other game we play. But one time I read this passage about how humans tend to practice it as an act of love and devotion between two people. A good number of them believe in saving their first time for someone they deeply care about. When the time finally arrives, it is a sacrifice that they make in an affectionate gesture of commitment to their lover.

“I don’t know why, but that precept touched me when I read it,” Laera continued softly, having completely forgotten about the dark elf’s presence. “It touched me deeply. Along the way, I suppose I inadvertently adopted that notion somehow.”

The wood elf found herself wondering—had she been given the chance—if Rigel would possibly have been her first.

Dreketh’s abstracted eyes stared off into space as she listened to the wood elf’s words.

“There’s a lot to be said for that,” she said distractedly.

“What?” Her companion’s words brought Laera out of her musings.

Startled at discovering she had spoken aloud, the regret that shown in the dark elf’s eyes quickly vanished as they returned to their usual callous demeanor. Her brow furrowed, Dreketh quickly shuffled her legs, uncrossing them to stand.

“Well, it’s something you won’t have to deal with,” she said, her voice turning purposeful as she replaced her helm back on her head. “We came here to talk to the priest, and by the gods we’re going to do it quickly and be gone. The lieutenant can find his pleasure at the Maiden’s Fancy for all I care.”

Sighing in relief, Laera whispered a fervent thanks to her god for sparing her—and, privately, to Dreketh as well.

With the shadow knight’s assistance, the worn and beaten druid managed to pull herself upright and stand on her own. Her trials in coming to Neriak showed plain on her face and in her aspect. She hadn’t realized how strenuous coming to this place would be.

Glancing around for the first time, she took in her surroundings as the shadow knight led her into the city proper. The walls of the underground Teir’Dal bastion loomed all about her in a mist-filled darkness that seemed alive. Though all was dark and menacing, she caught sight of the occasional symbol gracing the towering walls, each one glowing a distinct fluorescent color. The sight mesmerized the wood elf, who had never seen such a wondrous thing before.

Once again being led by Dreketh’s firm hand on her arm, the druid glimpsed the occasional Teir’Dal wandering the city streets on some errand or other. Fearing another outcry, she shrank away from their insidious eyes, trying to look as pathetic and helpless as possible. Considering her appearance, that wasn’t at all difficult.

The twisting streets and hallways seemed to delve into the cavern of endless twists as they bore into the mountain rock. Dreketh walked with confidence, leading her slave past a number of shops and other assorted buildings. Laera could only trust that the shadow knight knew where she was going, as she herself became hopelessly lost in the bowels of the labyrinthine place.

Like so many things that surprised her of late, the Temple of Innoruuk was not what Laera expected. As a monument dedicated to the Prince of Hate, somehow she had imagined it to appear twisted and corrupt. The building Dreketh was now leading her toward made her doubt her own senses. So much so, she was forced to ask her companion if this was really Innoruuk’s temple.

The structure rising before her reminded her not so much of a temple, but of a small stone keep, complete with ramparts. There was even a shallow moat surrounding the structure, fed by small waterfalls cascading down the temple’s four corners. The splashing water created an oddly soothing sound echoing about the cavern. Laera marveled as she found her taut muscles relaxing in the calm noise.

Though admittedly dark and uninviting, the temple wasn’t the repulsive structure she had envisioned it to be. Indeed, the dark, vaulting cavern surrounding the temple didn’t intimidate her in the slightest. If anything, it portrayed a quality of sadness she couldn’t explain.

Or perhaps she could. Here was a race of people who were created in an obscene twisting of nature by a vengeful and odious god. Unlike the dwarven kind, who thrived in their subterranean home of Kaladim, these were elves—distant kin to her own blood who were forced to make their home underground, possibly because they had no other place to go. The outside world shunned them for their sinister origins. All things considered, was it any surprise that they chose to adopt the ways of hate?

Laera found herself pitying the Teir’Dal race. Glancing at Dreketh proudly marching the walkway before her, she cringed at the thought of what her companion would say if she could hear such thoughts.

She had to remind herself that these were the corrupt spawn of Innoruuk, and devout followers of other gods such as Rallos Zek and Cazic Thule. Whatever their beginnings, their hatred of light dwellers was a timeless obsession that had caused the suffering and death of hundreds of thousands of Tunare’s children over the centuries. Laera resolved not to submit to her pity. Somewhere along the way, these people had ceased to be victims of their god, and became the scourge of Norrath by their own merit. They were a dangerous people bent on the extermination of her race, and she was determined never to forget that.

Rounding the gradual curvature of the walkway surrounding the moat, they came upon a bridge that led across rippling waters and into the temple itself. Looking up, the Wood Elf gawked at the marble arches that gracefully towered over the concourse on their way to the open entrance.

On the rear wall of the vestibule was a large mural detailed in red that the druid could only presume resembled the Prince of Hate Himself. Unlike the skilled finery of the outer walls, this particular fresco appeared jarringly primitive to the wood elf’s discerning eyes. Surrounding the strange image were a number of enigmatic symbols Laera couldn’t make out.

Stepping forward curiously to take a closer look, she was brought up short by the hand of a temple guard.

“Halt,” he said sternly. Turning, he addressed Dreketh standing next to her. “No slaves admitted.”

The shadow knight reached up and, with a quick snap of her hand unlatched the chinstrap on her helmet. With both hands, she pulled the heavy bronze helm off over her head, revealing her features. Tossing her head back and wiping aside a strand of white hair that clung to her brow, Dreketh stepped up to the guard to be recognized.

“Kella N’Threk,” she said in a measured tone.

The guard bowed his head and backed away immediately, allowing admittance without a word. With equal demeanor, Dreketh took hold of Laera’s arm, leading her past the guards and into the temple halls.

“What was that?” the wood elf whispered.

“The temple guards serve under the jurisdiction of the clergy,” she said by way of explanation. Rounding a corner, she led the druid down a set of stairs leading into darkness. “Kella N’Threk has given them explicit orders to grant me every liberty I need in my task. I have but to speak his name.”

Stopping to turn the wood elf to face her, Dreketh began to untie the leather thongs binding Laera’s wrists.

“Down below is a door,” she continued. “Behind it are N’Threk’s solitary chambers. I think they put him down here to keep him out of the way. He can be unpredictable at times.”

Finally deprived of the restricting leather thongs, Laera rubbed her aching wrists, trying to regain their circulation as she listened.

“I have no idea how he’ll react to the presence of a wood elf,” she continued, proceeding to remove the collar at Laera’s neck. “He’s blind, so if we’re careful he may not even realize your race. Just remain calm, don’t make any sudden noises, and unless he asks you a direct question let me do the talking. That’s all I can think of to suggest.”

On her own, Laera untied the rope restraining her at the elbows. Spreading her arms wide, she let it unravel and fall to the steps at her feet.

“Okay, let’s go,” she said.

Now that she was actually here, Laera felt her resolve returning. One way or another, she was determined to prove to Dreketh that her suggestion had merit—that her presence really would make the priest open up and explain what this Pact was all about. Somehow she would see to it that the burden of coming to this place would prove worthwhile.

Laera turned to continue her way down the steps, hoping to get on with it, but Dreketh blocked her way with her bronze-clad arm and a stern look.

“Listen to me carefully, druid of Tunare,” the dark elf spoke intensely. “This priest may be mad, but he is still a priest of Innoruuk. That makes him dangerous. His word is the guiding voice of the Prince of Hate, and I will not see him disparaged or in any way demeaned by the likes of you.

“You stand in the house of my god, wood elf. No worshipper of Tunare has walked these halls who wasn’t a living sacrifice to Innoruuk. You are the first, and I haven’t brought you here now so you could desecrate this place by showing your disdain for any of my people. You don’t have to believe in my ways or worship my god, but you will conduct yourself with the utmost respect for both. Fail to do so, and the Pact ends right now with your death and mine. Do I make myself clear?”

Standing alone in the darkness together, Dreketh’s smooth features shown laced with red highlights to the wood elf’s enhanced vision. Looking into the vehement eyes of her companion, there was no doubt in Laera’s mind that the shadow knight fully intended to make good on her promise. Seeing in Dreketh the same fierce devotion she held for her own god, Laera was taken aback.

Swallowing delicately, the stunned wood elf nodded her assent and quietly followed the dark elf down to the chambers below.

The knock at the door rang across the dimly lit room.

“The nexus returns whole,” Kella N’Threk spoke to himself softly in the shadows. Raising his bowed head, the elderly priest raised his quivering voice as well. “Enter!”

Dreketh carefully opened the door, poking her head into the soft, flickering candlelight of the room. The muted lighting cast a number of tremulous shadows all around the humble chambers. Looking about, she caught sight of the priest’s reticent form kneeling before his personal altar in the corner, his back to the door.

Good, she thought to herself. It meant he was likely in an untroubled mood.

“I come in search of Innoruuk’s wisdom, your grace,” Dreketh spoke in a taciturn voice, not wishing to break the spirit pervading the priest’s small room.

“Enter in your search, young one,” came the priest’s response.

Dreketh waved the wood elf to follow her inside, stepping quietly into the room. Laera shut the door behind her, the latch snapping into place with a small click. The priest continued kneeling before the altar, his head bowed once again.

Clearing her throat, Dreketh spoke.

“I have brought-”

“Though my eyes are forever sightless, the eyes of Innoruuk are not blind, child,” the priest interrupted sharply. “State your purpose with clarity, and waste not our time with rubbish morsels beached upon our shore.”

“Yes, your grace,” Dreketh cast Laera a doubtful glance. “We have come seeking the meaning of Zeranon.”

“Meaning?” came the priest’s questioning response.

“Yes, your grace.”

“What meaning is there to seek? The Pact is. The Cup of Ages awaits our claim.”

“Yes, but what does the word ‘Zeranon’ mean? What does it refer to?”

“You speak in ignorance, child. Do you seek identity in meaning, or that of purpose?”

Dreketh hesitated.

“W-we actually seek both, your grace.”

“What you truly seek cannot be found until you bear the correct question to ask. The path to knowledge is as important as where it leads. For how can one’s destination be fully realized unless the road they travel is the correct one?”

Dreketh shut her eyes, trying to work through the elderly priest’s words.

“Didn’t I just-”

“No, you did not ask the correct question. For the answer is a myriad of linguistic chaos.”

Raising her hands, palms up, Dreketh cast a helpless look to the wood elf standing next to her, showing how futile it is to talk to the priest.

Laera leaned in close to the shadow knight.

“What was that he said,” she whispered. “Something about the Cup of Ages?”

The priest raised his head suddenly, hearing the wood elf’s voice.

“The pendant voice of the nexus reaches my ears,” the priest spoke in a stronger voice. “Step forward and be heard, child.”

Laera exchanged an uncertain glance with her companion. Seeing reluctance in Dreketh’s eyes, the druid’s voice rose to address the priest of Innoruuk.

“Your grace,” she said reverently, echoing the title her companion used to address him. “You… spoke just now of the Cup of Ages.”

“I did, indeed,” the priest replied.

Licking her lips, the wood elf took a small step forward to ask her earnest question.

“This is not something I have heard mention of in my training. What might it be?”

The priest silently rose to stand in his hunched posture. Turning with a shuffling step, his opaque eyes stared a dumbfounded gaze straight through the wood elf before him. Pausing, the elderly dark elf made as though he was trying to discern something about Laera. Though what, she couldn’t tell.

“The Cup of Ages!” the priest bellowed grandly, splitting the silence asunder like a thunderclap and making the two young women jump. “Immortal Goblet. Even more commonly known as the Chalice of Zeranon, the container which holds the whispered convergence of power. Do you not recognize your own destiny, foolish one?”

Laera’s mouth worked silently, unable to find any suitable response to the priest’s outburst. Feeling Dreketh’s placating hand on her shoulder, she abandoned her search for words.

“Your grace,” the shadow knight’s calm words leaped to her rescue. “With respect, I have not been told of this either.”

“Silence!” The priest raised his hands out, demanding obedience. Shuffling forward, he approached the wood elf standing before him. When he spoke, his voice was tinged by suspicion. “Of what do you seek about Zeranon’s Chalice, worshipper of Tunare?”

“Well,” Laera spoke warily. “I know nothing of its nature. Whatever knowledge you have to impart would be-”

The priest immediately let loose a high-pitched scream, his aged voice piercing sharply through Laera’s head. Covering her pointed ears with the palms of her hands, the cringing druid tossed about, trying to find refuge from the painful sound of Kella N’Threk’s shrieking voice.

“Abomination of Tunare!” The priest raised an accusing finger toward the cowering druid. “You seek that which is not yours to possess! The whereabouts of the Chalice will remain hidden to your eyes and the eyes of your abhorrent deity until such a time as the multitudes are prepared! How dare you befoul the house of Innoruuk with such treacherous intentions!”

“Your grace!” Dreketh’s words rang over the enraged priest’s discourse.

“Speak not to me, you who have unwittingly brought us all to the brink of disaster!” The priest turned his attention to the stunned shadow knight. “In your ignorance, you would bring about the downfall of Innoruuk and the Teir’Dal! Must I destroy myself to protect the secrets of the Father from your fallacies? You who consort with light dwellers! Begone from my sight, lover of elves!”

Dreketh looked aghast at the uncontrollable priest, her face mystified. Though mostly incoherent and often unreasonable, Kella N’Threk had never displayed such ferocity in his confused ramblings.

“Begone, I say! Take this abomination from my presence before all is lost!”

Dreketh heard the quick and heavy footsteps of the temple guards approach from behind the closed door. Reaching out to grasp at the cowering wood elf by her patchwork, Dreketh pulled them both away from the entrance.

The chamber door burst open, swinging wildly in an arc few scant inches from the retreating elves. Standing in the doorway was an alarmed guard, his eyes darting quickly between the three occupants. At hearing the sound of the door opening, Kella N’Threk began gesturing frantically at the two women across from him.

“Guard! Take them both away immediately! Remove them at once, do you hear me! Remove them from the temple! Banish them from Neriak! For their return shall herald the coming of death for our people!”

The guard sprang into action, followed closely by two of his comrades as they reached out to take custody of the intruders.

“Wait-” Dreketh held up her hands, attempting to ward off the guards’ approach.

The shadow knight’s forestalling hand was immediately seized in the firm grip of the guard as she was yanked forward into a debilitating headlock before she could make a move to defend herself. Laera was similarly taken by another guard, and both were quickly spirited away from the chamber.

In her struggles against the guard’s crude handling, the wood elf managed a glimpse back into the old priest’s quarters. An instant before she was taken out of view, she caught sight of the priest’s clouded eyes staring directly at her face. His wrinkled lips were twisted into a wicked grin, an expression that confounded the distressed druid.

Once out of the confines of the small stairway, the two were taken into custody of a surly ogre, apparently kept around for just such occasions. Reaching his enormous arms around each of their lithe throats in a tandem of chokeholds, the ogre dragged them effortlessly out of the temple and into the streets of Neriak, accompanied by an assortment of temple guards.

Dreketh struggled under the sheer strength of her captor’s grip. The shadow knight pulled desperately on the arm compressing her windpipe to try and explain the terrible misunderstanding that had been made. Her efforts were fruitless, however, as the massive ogre’s vice-like grip around her neck turned her arguments into an incoherent mass of gurgling noises.

Even more frantic was the wood elf druid as she railed against the behemoth. Not catching every phrase in the priest’s highly agitated tirade, she was overcome with the fear that perhaps she would become a slave after all, now that everything was falling apart. Seeing Dreketh’s futile struggles next to her, she decided the shadow knight would not be able to help her this time.

The two elves were taken through the winding avenues of Neriak, dragged brutally before the eyes of the sporadic dark elves wandering the streets. The sight of any temple guard away from the citadel was unusual in its own right, much less that of an entire detachment—complete with ogre—as they paraded a shadow knight and, of all things, a wood elf through the dark city.

Normally any trouble that arose inside the gates was immediately quelled by a swift blade—particularly at the likes of a light dweller’s presence. But Kella N’Threk’s orders were clear: banishment from Neriak. Since the authority of the temple guard took precedence over that of any other municipal jurisdiction, the city guards could only watch the procession along with the bystanders.

It didn’t take long before several members of the earlier mob outside caught sight of the small cavalcade. Instantly recognizing the wood elf slave and her bronze-clad abductor held in the clutches of the ogre, stunned moments passed as they tried to reason out what could possibly have happened. Somehow, in the scant time following the slave’s arrival at the city, something took place that resulted in her captor being incarcerated as well. Soon, the light dawned that there could be only one explanation—the wood elf was obviously a spy, and the shadow knight her accomplice.

Once again the cry went out. Shouts of “elf lover” and “woodie scum” echoed through the cavern, while demands were put forth by the masses that the two be immediately put to death.

Deaf to the roar of the citizenry, the temple guards continued marching their prisoners to the city entrance, followed closely by the amassing ranks of protestors. Though no less ardent than the assemblage that gathered earlier, the presence of several temple guards kept the angry mob at bay to a relatively safe distance, keeping the situation from flaring out of control a second time.

The procession passed below the gateway leading out of the city. Upon seeing the narrow passageway about to engulf her once again, Laera’s struggles turned hysterical. Though her writhings remained totally powerless against the raw strength of her ogre keeper, they apparently annoyed him. With a rumbling growl emanating from the gargantuan throat, the ogre tightened his grip on the wood elf with a jerk of his arm, causing her lungs to expulse in a rush. Stunned by the maneuver, Laera’s vision clouded and sharp flashes swirled before her as she tried to remain conscious. She knew she was still being taken back into the passageway, but her dazed state robbed her of caring. Limply, she hung like a sack in the ogre’s grasp.

Only when she felt the coolness of an outdoor breeze meeting her face did Laera open her eyes. The procession had taken them a fair distance away from the cave entrance, stopping short at a large stone bridge stretching across a turbulent river. Remembering vividly the treacherous swim she and her companion made through the piranha-infested waters in order to enter the dark elf homeland, the druid shrank deeper into the ogre’s clutches.

At the command of the captain of the guard, the ogre unceremoniously dumped his burden onto the ground at his feet with a concordant thud.

Dreketh rolled to one side to clutch at her throat as she took in huge gasps of air. Choking in frenetic seizures as the air caught in her abused throat, she scrambled to rise on all fours in an attempt to stand. She was stopped short by the boot of one of the temple guards pressing down against the top of her head, forcing her back down to the forest floor on her stomach.

Hearing Laera cry out over her shoulder, Dreketh tried in vain to catch sight of her companion to see what was happening. The guard’s boot, however, was unrelenting. Grinding her teeth together, she resisted the pressure with all her strength and managed to raise her head several inches above the ground so she could at least breathe. Out the corner of her eyes, she saw the captain glaring at her close by, his helm nestled casually between wrist and hip.

“Pray to Innoruuk for mercy, traitor,” the captain said, his thin, dark elf lips curved into a detestable sneer. “By mandate of His priesthood, you are hereby banished from your homeland. So it is now. Forever so shall it be!”

The unseen crowd roared to life at the captain’s declaration. Whether they were cheering at her banishment or protesting at her being spared execution, Dreketh had no way of knowing. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. Everything transpired so quickly. One moment she was a devout servant of Innoruuk, the next she was marked as a traitorous heretic about to be ostracized from her own people.

Stepping forward with a measured stride, the captain knelt on one knee before her contorted face. Placing a gauntleted hand across the other knee, he lowered his face to whisper to the shadow knight.

“And while you’re at it, thank Innoruuk for the mad priest’s protection,” his hateful words rang in Dreketh’s ears. “By his decree I may not be allowed to run my blade through your worthless skin right now, or that of your little ‘friend.’ But show your face in Nektulos again and it will be my personal pleasure to demonstrate exactly how we deal with elf lovers. Remember this vow, traitor. And fear my wrath should you break your exile—the wrath of Captain N’Farre.”

Having said his words, the temple guard spat in the shadow knight’s face. The warm touch of the guard’s spittle cooled quickly against her skin in the evening air, yet burned a scalding wound in her soul nonetheless. Dreketh felt the unfamiliar sting of tears as they began welling in her furious eyes. Losing impetus, the shadow knight collapsed with a strenuous grunt under the weight of the guard’s heel.

N’Farre’s face disappeared from sight as he stood, his booted foot crushing the grass before her eyes. Raising his voice, he spoke for all to hear.

“In true Teir’Dal fashion, you both will be given ten seconds of the guards’ protection to make your way across the bridge. Once you reach the other side, you are outsiders trespassing on dark elf soil, and free game to those who seek your blood.”

Another cry went up, the voices unmistakably pleased this time.

Dreketh groaned inwardly, recognizing this tradition of ostracism. The victim being expulsed from Neriak—usually of some dissenting race from the foreign quarter—was given a chance to escape the forest. They were allowed a short time to cross the bridge as the guards held back the violent rabble. Once foot was set on the opposite bank, the crowd was released, forcing the victim into making a mad dash for the vale leading into the Commonlands. If the prey was quick enough to successfully escape the forest, they were left to survive on their own recognizance, never to return. However, if their feet proved lacking, the crowd had their way with them—usually resulting in their being pummeled to death by the hands of their former hosts, or in extreme cases, brutally dismembered.

Some made it out alive. Most didn’t. Officially, it was supposed to be a means of bringing a just end to those Innoruuk deemed worthy of survival and those He did not. In reality, it was a ferocious means of satisfying the Teir’Dal populace of their thirst for violence—for a time, at least.

Feeling the pressure of the guard’s boot being lifted, Dreketh raised her head, immediately scurrying to find her companion. Over her shoulder, she saw the miserable wood elf being forced down against the grimy forest floor by another guard, firmly pinning her left arm behind her back.

“Get moving! Your time starts now!” The captain shoved Dreketh’s shoulder roughly with the tip of his boot. On cue, the wood elf’s guard released her and stepped back to assist in keeping the crowd in check.

Without time to think or plan ahead, Dreketh scrambled to stand, slipping only once as she lost her footing. Reaching over, she grabbed her wood elf companion by the arm, trying to cajole the defeated druid to her feet while at the same time dragging her along in a half-run across the bridge.

Laera let out a pain-filled shriek at the shadow knight’s touch, recoiling her arm as she stumbled her way onto hardened mortar of the bridge.

“Get moving or we’re both dead,” Dreketh muttered into her companion’s ear.

The wood elf managed to gain ample footing and the two sprinted their way across the bridge.

Her hand pressed urgently against the druid’s back, shoving her ahead, Dreketh stole a peek behind to see the eyes of the temple guards watching them closely. She knew they had only a few short seconds remaining before the scandalized gathering was released like hounds to their fox. It was well known that anyone who didn’t make it to the other side of the river by then never escaped the forest alive.

Turning back to face forward, the dark elf pressed herself and the druid even harder to reach the grassy riverbank. Feeling the rush of wind against her face, she pointedly ignored the painful grunts coming from her companion.

An instant before stepping off the bridge, she heard the raucous hollering of the crowd being released. In a blink, Dreketh became an outcast running for life and limb from those she considered her dark brothers and sisters of the blood.

“I can’t make it. They’re too close, I can hear them,” the druid gasped beside her.

“You stop and I’ll kill you myself,” the shadow knight croaked through her sore and injured throat. “Others have escaped, and by the gods we’re going to be two of them!”

“I can’t-”

“Shut up and run!”

Racing down the dirt road leading through the creature-filled wood, the two companions dodged past every moving thing they came across. Dark and foreboding shapes whizzed by in a blur, unidentifiable in their mad rush against time.

The shadow knight grimly smiled to herself at seeing the path tee off in a branch leading to the west. It meant they weren’t far from the vale mouth. They made better time than she thought they would, especially considering that the druid was nursing a painful injury. For once, Dreketh was thankful for the remarkable agility of wood elves.

Leaving the junction far behind, the two continued their course as they sped toward the forest edge, though their momentum was becoming notably slower as they lost stamina. Dreketh began wheezing for breath, stubbornly unwilling to give her pursuers one inch of ground if she could help it.

At last the mouth of the vale emerged from the swirling mists ahead. Freedom was only yards away with no visible sign of anyone giving chase behind. Rejoicing, the shadow knight pumped her legs harder, knowing their liberation was at hand.

Passing by one of the final trees of the forest, Dreketh saw the flash of a metallic fist as it emerged from behind the trunk. With no time to react, she caught it squarely in the face, falling to her back in a stunning blow that knocked the wind from her.

It was over, and she knew it. Her vision swimming, she tried to yell for Laera to escape, but her voice failed as her lungs heaved involuntarily.

Rough hands grabbed her by the shoulder straps of her leather tunic, bringing her upright before the familiar face of an odious lieutenant.

“Somehow I knew the ruckus at the bridge was all about you,” he said. “Glad to see I was right.”

Bringing his knee up, he slammed it into the shadow knight’s stomach, forestalling any recovery she might have made from her fall. Doubling over, Dreketh heaved out a throaty gasp.

“You see, I knew that if it really was you, you’d be coming this way real soon.”

Pulling Dreketh upright by the scruff of her neck, the lieutenant shoved the shadow knight’s back against the tree. His face twisted in rage, he reached up his armored hand to pin her against the trunk by the throat.

“And since the only thing I hate worse than a light dweller is an elf-loving coward, well, I thought I’d end our business arrangements with something more than a simple handshake.”

The guard reached to his belt, releasing a gleaming dagger from its sheath.

“Say hello to Innoruuk for me, traitorous bitch.”

In a shrill whistle of air, a steel-shafted arrow streaked from out of the shadows to one side. Hitting true to its target, the missile pierced the guard’s gauntlet at Dreketh’s throat, penetrating cleanly through the wrist. Crying out in pain, the lieutenant released his hold, letting loose his would-be murder victim.

Reacting swiftly, Dreketh took advantage of her attacker’s distraction. Grabbing hold of the lieutenant’s shoulders, she brought her knee up to connect with his groin, effectively incapacitating the guard even further. Shoving him backward to writhe upon the ground, she searched for her elusive companion.

Catching a glimpse of a glowing blue light near the vale mouth, she was immediately hit by a soothing rush of power flowing through her. Feeling the pain from her inflicted wounds subside, and her strength returning, she promptly decided she must have discovered the druid’s whereabouts. She felt the healing power surge through her a second time in her rush toward the vale.

Racing up to her companion, Dreketh grabbed hold of the wood elf’s uninjured shoulder, and immediately sped off.

“Are you out of your mind!” she yelled.

“You looked shaken up, I didn’t know how bad he hurt you!”

Cursing the pinpoint marksmanship of wood elf archery, the shadow knight led their way down the twisting ravine to the relative safety of the Commonlands. Fearing what might happen once the debilitated lieutenant was discovered by the mob, she pressed their retreat deep into the lush valley until she was relatively certain they wouldn’t be discovered by any hunting parties.

Selecting a dense thicket nearby, Dreketh shoved her companion inside. Stealing a moment to look around to make sure they weren’t observed, she dove in herself.

Laera panted heavily, cradling her injured arm as she sat.

“I can’t believe we made it,” the wood elf swallowed her dry throat. “I swear I could feel the-”

“Don’t you ever do that to me again!” the shadow knight interrupted.

Staring aghast at the shadow knight’s sudden ire, Laera’s expression turned indignant.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Don’t you ever turn Tunare’s power on me, wood elf! Never!” Dreketh held forth a bronze fist, shaking it threateningly.

“I saw the flash of a dagger! What did you want me to do? Let you bleed to death?” Of all the things the dark elf had to be upset over right now, Laera couldn’t believe this was what she chose to threaten her over.

“I was fine!” Dreketh growled.

“Not from where I was standing! You were getting the life beat out of you, you ungrateful-”

“Just…!” Dreketh raised her arm, checking it as she was about to send it hurtling across the pathetic wood elf’s face. She took a deep breath, letting her hand fall weakly to her side instead. “Just keep your loathsome faith to yourself from now on, understand? I won’t have my body desecrated by the power of your filthy, simpering god!”

Shaking her head slowly in stunned disbelief, Laera stared in amazement at her companion.

“I can’t believe you,” she said, astonished. “I might have just saved your life, and here you are screaming at me over religious bias!”

“You can’t believe me?” The dark elf was practically frothing at the mouth. “I can’t believe that a puny whelp belonging to an undeserving race just got me banished from my own-…” Dreketh’s voice seized, breaking into a hoarse cry. “I can’t believe my own people are chasing me down, trying to kill me! I can’t believe I’ll never return to my home again—the only home I’ve ever known, you light-dwelling piece of filth!”

Her lungs spent, Dreketh gasped for breath with a high-pitched wheeze before she could shout again.

“I have been labeled an elf lover by my own family, and it’s all because of you, wood elf! Damn you! Damn you to hate’s fire!”

For the first time since the death of her parents, Dreketh’s aggrieved face was stained by the flow of tears streaming down her blue cheeks. Collapsing forward, Dreketh furiously thrust her small fists to the ground. Her face hidden, the dark elf’s bronze shoulders heaved with wracking sobs, all the while her voice whispering “damn you, damn you,” at the hated druid sitting across from her in the brush.

Laera’s self-righteous anger vanished at seeing the dark elf’s grief. All her life, she had been taught how her actions affected everyone around her, and not just her own fate. That lesson returned to her with harsh clarity now as she tried to imagine what it would be like were she in her companion’s place. To never see the Faydark again, or Kelethin, or Rigel. The thought sickened her, as did the thought that the pain-stricken person before her was now enduring it because of her thoughtless pride.

Reaching out, the taciturn wood elf placed a delicate hand on Dreketh’s back. The dark elf’s reaction was violent as she pulled up and jerked away, her face twisted at the sight of her companion.

Seeing her own visage reflected in the shadow knight’s cold eyes, Laera shared in the dark elf’s revulsion of her own image.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, knowing how shallow those words sounded in the face of someone who had just lost everything. “You’re right. It’s my fault.”

The acerbic expression on Dreketh’s face slowly faded at realizing the druid wasn’t making another one of her verbal attacks. No dark elf would ever admit such responsibility and apologize for it. It was perceived as a sign of weakness among the Teir’Dal, and seeing light dwellers do it as a sickening gesture of goodwill typically made the shadow knight want to vomit.

Strangely, however, Laera’s solemn admittance for being the cause of Dreketh’s distress didn’t have that effect this time. The arsenal of biting accusations poised on the dark elf’s tongue slipped away one by one, as she unwittingly lost hold of her rage. After all, what do you say to someone who willingly accepts the blame?

Irritatedly wiping at the tears on her face, Dreketh regained her composure.

“What’s done is done,” she said sullenly. “I knew the risks going in. If I didn’t want to face the consequences of getting caught, I shouldn’t have agreed to it.” She shrugged. “It’s that simple. I was a fool.”

“I was a fool for thinking it was worthwhile,” the wood elf said bitterly, remembering the priest’s hateful reaction. “I should have listened to you. Now you’re an outcast and we’re no closer to finding the truth.”

“Well,” Dreketh said, her voice morose. “Not exactly, right?”

Laera closed her eyes with a resigned sigh. She hated it when people glossed over the plain truth just to make her feel better at times like this.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean now we have another term to help us in our search,” the dark elf mused as she composed herself.

Laera opened her eyes, suddenly realizing what Dreketh was referring to.

“The Cup of Ages,” she said, her voice showing a glimmer of hope.

“The Cup of Ages,” Dreketh repeated, nodding. “The Chalice of Zeranon, and the 'Immortal Goblet' I think it was.”

Casting Dreketh a look of trepidation, Laera tried to gauge the dark elf’s feelings.

“Do you really think… it was worth it?”

Dreketh scowled darkly at the wood elf.

“Of course not,” she snapped, letting her companion know with certainty that she was in no way offering forgiveness. Her expression returning to a ponderous one, she resumed her thought. “But I’ve known N’Threk for a while now. Delirious as the priest might be, I do know he would never let slip something we weren’t meant to know. I just wonder why he waited until now to say it. I’ve been badgering him for information for weeks.”

“And…” the druid added softly. “As we were being taken away, I saw him…”

The dark elf looked up.

“You saw him what?”

Laera’s expression turned confused, as she searched for words to describe the disconcerting look the priest had given her.

“I don’t… know,” she said haltingly. “He smiled at me like he was sharing some sort of private victory, as if somehow I’d been offered the dessert before the meal. It was strange, I can’t really explain it. What’s even stranger is that he was looking straight at me.”

Dreketh tossed a careless hand at the wood elf.

“He does that to everyone. I think he just likes unnerving people.”

“But, what if-”

“Relax,” the shadow knight said pointedly. “Trust me, it’s nothing.”

Laera closed her mouth softly, unable to think of anything more to add to the conversation. Glancing around, she discovered that the sun had set without her realizing it. The surrounding darkness reminded her that they needed to return to the Militia House to pick up their belongings. She didn’t know how long it would be before the Freeport guard decided they weren’t coming back and started ransacking their things.

“Then it’s off to Erudin, I take it?” the druid asked, dispirited.

Letting her hand drop limply against her knee, Dreketh sighed.

“The last time I asked this, I ended up running for my life from an angry mob,” she said wearily. “But, do you have any better suggestions?”

Laera looked up, expecting to see the dark elf’s resentful glare aimed her way. While not exactly jovial, Dreketh’s expression was a far cry removed from showing resentment. If the druid had to put a name to it, she figured it would best be described as too tired to be angry.

Her lips curling slightly, Laera whispered her timid response.

“No, I don’t.”

Nodding, Dreketh pushed against the ground to stand.

“Good, we’ll start out in the morning. Just as soon as we find out where we’re sleeping tonight, that is.”

“Right,” the wood elf agreed. Keeping her injured arm close, she accepted the dark elf’s evenhanded offer to help her to her feet.

Holding Laera’s hand firmly just as the wood elf was about to turn to leave the thicket, Dreketh stopped her with a hesitant look.

“What’s wrong now?” the wood elf asked.

“I just wanted to say…” the dark elf paused to wet her lips, obviously fighting some inner battle. “That… that was a good shot. Amazing at that distance, really. The arrow hit him dead on. Where did you find a bow?”

Tilting her head curiously, the wood elf faced her companion.

“What arrow?”

Chapter 8 - The Ranger