The white, towering spires of Erudin drifted off into the watery distance as the two companions stood once again above deck on the Golden Maiden. Though looking somewhat under the weather on account of the incessantly rocking ship, Dreketh retained her composure as she watched the island of Odus grow ever smaller on the horizon. Laera, too, leaned contemplatively against the railing on the ship’s tiller, staring off into the distance. Both young women had remained thoughtful and introverted ever since they left the necromancer’s home early that morning.

After Xavier pointed out Widdlethorp’s name in the Almanac, the question arose as to whether the mysterious author was even still alive. Though the lengthy Almanac had been published only recently—within the last hundred years—it was composed of innumerable passages written by many thousands of authors throughout the centuries. Unfortunately, the book made no mention of when that particular passage had been authored, or from where it originated. Nevertheless, the Erudite made his point clear that even if the author was, in fact, dead, perhaps other works of his could be found in his homeland. Since the name “Widdlethorp” was a name common to the gnomes, it was soon agreed that the two young women should travel to Ak’Anon—home city of the gnomes in the continent of Faydwer.

Though the young elves could not deny the wisdom of this conclusion, neither of them was exactly thrilled at the prospect of traveling all the way back across Antonica to Freeport. From there, they would be required to sail the Ocean of Tears to Faydwer, and then travel through Butcherblock Mountains, brave their way through Faydark Forest, and sneak through much of the Steamfont Mountains before finally arriving at the gnome city—all the while avoiding bandits, wild animals, monsters, and anything else the gods saw fit to throw into their path to boot. Quite literally, if any two places were farthest from each other in all of charted Norrath, it was Erudin and Ak’Anon.

This was particularly true for the two companions. Although Xavier was an accomplished spellcaster, as a necromancer his contacts were nonexistent when it came to Erudite wizards who could traverse such staggering distances in mere moments. He was also quick to point out that wizards of such high rank would likely take an undue interest in knowing exactly why a wood elf and dark elf would, together, require such services. It would be far safer to keep their actions and their whereabouts a secret—especially considering nearly every god of Norrath was out to destroy them.

But all was not without hope. Long after the sun had set below the waters’ edge, and her dark elf companion had retired below deck for the evening, a thought occurred to Laera. It was an inspiring thought that seemed to present the obvious solution to their traveling woes. So obvious was it that Laera berated herself for not thinking of it earlier.

Turning, she bounded down the stairs into the common area below deck, searching among the crowded passengers for any sign of her blue-skinned companion. She quickly caught sight of Dreketh lying down on one of the benches along the far wall, her head on her pack with one arm draped over her eyes to keep out the lantern light. The commotion in the room was such that the druid marveled at Dreketh’s ability to sleep at all.

Laera walked with a quick step through the crowd to kneel before the slumbering shadow knight.

“Dreketh…” she whispered. Receiving no response, she reached out a hesitant hand to shake the dark elf on the shoulder. “Dreketh, wake up.”

Dreketh’s slumbering features rippled slowly into a grimacing wince as she lifted her arm and squinted her eyes open. Blinking wearily, she focused on Laera’s eager face hovering before her. With a stifled groan, the shadow knight glanced around the room, taking note of the lanterns burning along the walls. It was still night, so they couldn’t possibly be docking yet.

She turned her attention back to the nefarious wood elf who so cruelly woke her.

“If this ship is not on fire, sinking, or both…so help me I’m going to kick your little-”

“Wake up, we need to talk!” Laera interrupted, her voice breathless.

The dark elf closed her eyes, her half-asleep mind laboring to process the absurd statement.

“Talk?” she asked, replacing her arm over her eyes. “Name of the gods, I’ve been up all day. You can save your probing questions about my private life for tomorrow morning.”

“Surefall!” Laera said excitedly.

“What?” Dreketh responded coldly.

“Surefall Glade!” Laera explained, her hand extended as though that explained everything.

“Never heard of it,” the dark elf started to turn away from the bothersome druid.

“Will you just listen for once?” The irritated druid pulled Dreketh’s arm off her eyes with a jerk. “This will solve the problem of traveling clear to Ak’Anon!”

Sighing loudly, Dreketh indulged the wood elf in speaking her idea.

“Surefall Glade is a haven for nature,” Laera began. “All nature lovers of the west go there to rest and train… including druids.”

Dreketh blinked.

“And…?”

“Don’t you see? Druids are masters of travel!”

“If you’re talking about using those stone rings placed all over Norrath, forget it. We don’t want master druids asking questions any more than we do wizards. They’re religious, so they pose an even greater risk.”

“But it doesn’t take a master druid to instill us with wolf spirits.”

Dreketh looked at the wood elf as if she’d just offered to serve up a plate of gnoll tongues for a tasty midnight treat.

“Wolf spirits…” she muttered.

“Spirit of the Wolf. It’s a spell that fills you with the essence of a wolf spirit, allowing you to share in its agile stride as you journey through the outdoors. With that speed, we could cut our traveling time in half. Maybe more! And here Surefall Glade lies just north of Qeynos, filled with druids who could help us!”

Dreketh looked blankly at Laera’s hurried description of the alleged spell, trying to determine whether she was on the level.

“Have you been drinking?”

“No, seriously!”

“You’re forgetting two things,” the dark elf said slowly, as though speaking to a child. “One, there is no chance you’ll be able to get me within a hundred yards of such a place. They’d make me into a Teir’Dal soufflé and have me served to their animal friends inside of thirty seconds.”

Laera pressed her lips together and folded her arms.

“Relax, that will be handled when I tell them I’m on a mission from Yeolarn Bronzeleaf.”

Dreketh’s face turned skeptical at the druid’s declaration. She had no idea who this Bronzeleaf person was, but judging by her partner’s tone, he must have been some grand leader.

“And you expect them to believe you?” she asked dubiously.

“Unlike some cultures I could mention who naturally expect deception, druids don’t generally lie to each other,” Laera said dryly.

“Sure they don’t,” Dreketh rubbed an eye wearily. “Especially the ones who keep the company of dark elves.”

“I can handle it, okay?”

“Which brings me to the second thing you’ve forgotten.”

“Which is?” Laera asked rakishly.

Dreketh resigned herself to getting no further sleep that night. With a deliberately tiresome manner, she sat upright.

“I will not be touched by Tunare’s power. I don’t care if it’s you or some other follower.”

“But-” Laera began.

“Say what you want, woodie. It’s not going to happen,” Dreketh growled, pulling on her bronze armor.

“I was about to say,” the druid continued curtly, “that Spirit of the Wolf isn’t a spell exclusive to Tunare. Shamans of the Tribunal, Karana, and other sources cast it all the time. Druids use it just because we know how. That’s all!”

“Then why don’t you cast it? Why go to this glade of yours?”

“I haven’t learned it yet. It takes dedication and work to be granted the honor, and I haven’t because I’ve spent the last several weeks roaming around Antonica with you!”

Dreketh ran a hand through her white hair as she paused to reflect on the wood elf’s suggestion.

“Think about it,” Laera encouraged. “We could outrun just about anything that would threaten us. Especially while making our way through the east plains again. Remember that? It took us forever just to make it from the canyon to the river bridge.”

The dark elf had to grudgingly admit she would rather not go through that harrowing experience again. There were things that roamed the eastern Karana Plains that made the shadow knight cringe whenever she thought about taking them on. The area was far better suited for seasoned travelers of Norrath, not a couple of novices fresh out of training.

Not to mention that she wasn’t looking forward to crossing Kithicor a second time, or the hostile Commonlands.

“You really think you could pull this off?” Dreketh asked, her eyes narrow.

“Absolutely,” Laera replied with confidence.

Dreketh grunted offhandedly as she yanked on her gauntlets, completing the ensemble.

“You don’t believe me?” the wood elf asked peevishly.

Dreketh placed her hands heavily on her knees, taking a deep breath through her nose as she considered her next words carefully.

“I guess we’ll see,” she said evenly.

The sun’s rays peeked over the rooftops of Qeynos as the Golden Maiden set its moors to the dock. The crisp morning air rippled through the ship’s sails and banners gently as the passengers began making their way down the gangplank. Among the crowd, two heavily cloaked figures huddled together, their hoods drawn.

How the two companions planned to make their way through the city without being recognized by the guards was a topic of considerable debate between them. It wasn’t every day a Teir’Dal was seen within the city walls, and Dreketh’s blue skin was sure to draw attention at some point.

The recent escape of the two young women was sure to have drawn no small amount of criticism on behalf of the Qeynos Guard—from leaders and citizens alike. Their three-day respite to Odus was hardly enough time for things to have simmered down, and they decided it was best not to take unnecessary chances.

Dreketh voiced her strong opinions about covering up in blankets and cloaks, as it was sure to draw attention to them in any case. Laera was quick to point out the only alternative was to seek refuge with the seedier elements of Qeynos society, putting them at much greater risk and exchanging the problem of hiding from the city guard with more treacherous, far-reaching trouble.

It was either that, or she allow Laera to use her magic to camouflage the two of them.

Reluctantly, the dark elf agreed that this was the only viable plan they could come up with in their limited amount of time—risky though it may be.

As fate would have it, fortune was on their side as they made their way among the masses past the guards along the docks. The most they received were odd, scrutinizing looks that disappeared as the guards rushed off to handle a crisis elsewhere involving some dwarf named “Irontoe” at a local pub.

Once out of the marketplace crowd, the young women weaved their way northward through the back alleyways, an area of Qeynos with which they were quickly becoming familiar. With time and clandestine effort, they eventually reached the city gates. As was the status quo for Qeynos, all was chaos at the entrance to the city, with the masses of people entering and leaving, making it almost too simple for the elves to sneak through the arch and steal their way past any unfriendlies. Dreketh glanced over her shoulder with a sneering grin at the walled city disappearing in the distance while Laera whispered a prayer of thanks to her goddess that things went smoothly—during this part of the journey, at least.

“Wait, shush! Here comes another one,” Laera said in a low warning.

Dreketh rolled her eyes and sat impatiently across from the wood elf. They had both been hiding in this soggy thicket for nearly six hours waiting for any sign of an experienced druid walking down the nearby path toward Surefall Glade.

After what seemed to Dreketh as being an eternity of sitting around wasting valuable travel time, the mid-afternoon hours arrived accompanied by a mass of storm clouds, effectively robbing them of the sun’s warmth. It wouldn’t have bothered the dark elf in the slightest, were it not for the drizzle of rain that followed. In time, the shower turned into a raging downpour over Qeynos Hills.

The miserable dark elf cast a seething look of displeasure at the back of her companion’s auburn head. The rain had caused the ground beneath her to turn into a sludge-like mud, pooling in slimy clumps amidst the brambles and roots of the thicket. She had long ago given up her futile attempts at sheltering her head from the storm. Instead, she chose to sit there with her arms folded, trying desperately to ignore the rivulets of water running along the tendrils of hair clinging to her face.

Were it not for the potential in Laera’s idea, Dreketh would have insisted they uproot and leave long ago. In the time it had taken them to find absolutely nobody to help them, they could have made their way well into the Karana Plains. While it was true that they would still be wet and cold out there as well, at least they would be that much closer to Freeport.

But the dark elf bit her tongue and said nothing of her objections to the druid. A small part of her held out the hope that perhaps Laera could be right, and they would be able to make their journey across Antonica both quickly and in relative safety.

“Blast,” Laera declared, sitting back down. “Looks like a warrior this time, or maybe a ranger. Definitely not a druid, though.”

Oh, but was it ever frustrating! The shadow knight clenched her teeth together to keep from throttling her companion. Everything about the druid set Dreketh’s teeth on edge, especially since taking Xavier’s advice and trying to acquaint herself more with the wood elf. Try as she might, she could not believe that a druid—a druid—had managed to get the upper hand during their spar in Toxxulia Forest. Had that been an actual duel, she would probably be dead right now. The dark elf cursed herself for not seeing that crippling maneuver coming, and vowed silently to redouble her fighting skills, and bring them up to acceptable standards. She would be damned to Innorruk’s vengeance before allowing herself to be defeated like that again.

“Are you okay?”

Dreketh looked up to find Laera staring at her, her expression concerned. Apparently the dark elf had absently allowed her inner thoughts to show on her face.

“No,” she said in a monotone, her arms still folded. “This miserable rain is going to be the death of me if we stay out here much longer.”

A hint of a smile crossed Laera’s face. The druid lifted her hands, catching splatters of rain in her upturned palms as she tilted her head back to revel in the life-giving rain. Her tan skin glistened with water running along her shoulders and down her chest to disappear beneath her armor. Droplets fell on her tunic as well, forming into small beads that ran harmlessly down the waterproofed leather.

“Mmm, I love it,” she said. “It’s nothing like the cold, dreary rain we saw in the Karanas. I wish we got rain like this in Kelethin, but the leaves of the Faydark are just too dense.”

Laera opened her mouth to catch the occasional raindrop on her tongue.

“It’s miserable,” Dreketh commented sullenly.

“Come on, try it,” Laera cajoled. “Nothing tastes as pure as rainwater straight from the sky!”

Dreketh glanced up into the clouds with a raised eyebrow, her face still a scowl. She watched as the wood elf caught raindrop after raindrop, swallowing what appeared to be mouthfuls of water. The dark elf soon realized how thirsty she was, and the thought of drinking stale canteen water while her companion enjoyed something fresh didn’t sit well with her.

She glanced up into the clouds again, only this time without the scowl—or at least not as deep a one. Stealing another peek at Laera, she looked around habitually to make sure nobody would see her in such a ridiculous disposition. Discovering not a single other soul hiding in the thicket with them, she hesitantly tilted her head back and opened her mouth slowly.

The dark elf winced at the rain hitting her, thinking it was impossible that so many could fall onto her face and not hit her mouth. A few small droplets managed to wet her lips, but it was nothing she found overly impressive.

“You can’t catch raindrops like that,” she heard Laera’s voice say. “You have to open your mouth wide, like this.”

Whether the wood elf actually demonstrated or not, Dreketh didn’t care to see. The druid’s whimsical voice alone made the dark elf glower. Nonetheless, she had already cast the first stone, and it would have appeared foolish to back out now.

Dreketh forced herself to open her mouth wider, and almost immediately a water drop landed inside, its cold temperature cooling her tongue. Then another. And another. Soon, a small lake was beginning to form in the back of her throat, and she was forced to close her mouth to swallow it. Never before had the dark elf tasted water that was so refreshing! The only water she had ever known was from the underground river that ran through Neriak. Until that moment, she had mistakenly assumed all water tasted that way.

Thunder rolled along the hillside and the smallest of chuckles escaped the dark elf’s lips as she opened her mouth again for a refill. At hearing the dark elf make a noise, Laera brought her head back down to watch her companion undergo this new experience.

“Did I tell you?” she said winningly. “You’ll never get a taste like this out of a pod or waterskin, I promise you that.”

Dreketh swallowed a second time, bringing her own face down to reply.

“Ugh, I hate water on my face, though,” she said, her expression twisted into a grimace.

“So do I,” Laera answered, tilting her head back again, her mouth open as wide as she could. “Buh yah ged yuth do id.”

Dreketh responded in kind for a third helping when she suddenly yelped and jerked her head back down. Laera jumped at the dark elf’s startled scream, immediately looking over to see what happened. She found her companion sitting there with a pained look, her hand covering both mouth and nose.

“What! What is it?” she asked, concerned.

The dark elf stifled a groan.

“Name of the gods, a raindrop went right up my nose,” she said sourly.

Laera’s look of concern transformed slowly into one of amusement. Her shoulders quivered as she tried to cover the smile she wore at her companion’s expense.

“It isn’t funny!” Dreketh shot back with an angry glare.

The wood elf was about to make a kind-hearted apology when a voice called out in the distance.

“Halt! Stay where you are!”

Their stormy repast immediately forgotten, the two elves turned immediately to look in the direction the voice came from. The flashing lightning revealed one of the patrolling guards approaching a stunned-looking human near the entrance to Surefall.

“Thank Tunare,” Laera whispered fervently. “For a moment I thought we were dead.”

Receiving no reply from her companion, she looked over her shoulder to find Dreketh’s usual dark and cynical expression had returned. The dark elf continued watching with grim interest as the guard outside went about his duties. Oh well, the wood elf thought to herself. So much for fun.

Dreketh’s hand hit Laera squarely in the back, interrupting her thoughts.

“Look over there,” the dark elf said, her tone urgent.

Turning back around, Laera caught sight of another figure approaching Surefall Glade, dressed all in leather. He walked amidst the storm with a casual gait—if the rain bothered him at all, he gave no indication. The man looked to be outwardly human, but possessed the sharp features of an elf. Laera figured he was probably half-elven.

What captured the wood elf’s attention the most was the large staff the man carried. It was made of a dark wood, curving into a crook at the top end. If she looked closely, she imagined she could see a slight aura surrounding the staff. Laera would have bet good money that it was one of those glowing wooden crooks she’d heard so much about in school. Druids loved them, and they grabbed them up whenever they got the chance. Furthermore, it was an item only seasoned druids were likely to acquire, meaning the odds favored him knowing how to cast Spirit of the Wolf.

“He’s a druid,” Laera whispered excitedly. “I think we may have just found our ticket to Freeport.”

The wood elf whirled around to address the dark elf. She was surprised to see how Dreketh could retain her composure after lying in wait for so long. Instead of enthusiasm, the shadow knight stared at the unwary half-elf with an odd expression, not unlike a lion about to pounce on its prey.

“Now let me handle this,” Laera spoke, hoping to calm the dark elf. “Stay here, and I’ll go out and talk to him.”

“Hurry, then,” was all the dark elf said in response, still eyeing the man outside closely.

Casting one more cautious look to her companion, the wood elf shuffled into a crouch. As the half-elf approached the nearest spot in the road, she stepped out and ran down the hillside to meet up with him.

“Hail!” Laera called out, coming to a stop in the man’s path.

The half-elf looked up. Seeing the caducel symbol embroidered on Laera’s tunic as she approached, he recognized her as a fellow druid.

“Hail yourself, friend!” he said amiably, raising a hand in greeting.

Laera took a moment to catch her breath from the sprint she made down the hill. Up close, she noticed that not only was he a half-elf, but a strikingly handsome one at that. His kind eyes looked at her with such chivalry, she thought her heart might skip a beat or two.

“Thanks… for stopping,” she said, panting. “I am… in need… of your help, brother…?”

“Veran,” he said, introducing himself with a quick bow and a smile. “I am on my way to Surefall to celebrate a victory I just had in the Karanas. Why don’t you join me, sister? We can drink together and you can tell me your needs. I’m buying!”

“No, no,” Laera replied, shaking her head. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for that right now. It’s vitally important that my companion and I get to Faydwer right away.”

“Companion?” Veran looked about, confused.

“Oh, she’s up in the brush keeping watch,” Laera said, waving a hand back the way she came. “But we desperately need to get to Faydwer. I’m on a mission from Yeolarn Bronzeleaf.”

Recognizing the esteemed high priest’s name, the half-elf lost his suave composure.

“Bronzeleaf? Of Felwithe?”

Laera nodded.

“Well, of course!” he said animatedly. “Tunare be praised! Anything I can do for you, sister. My good fortune today is your good fortune. Just be sure to mention my name when you arrive in Felwithe, right?”

“Certainly,” Laera agreed, eager to return to the thicket and be on her way. “I’ll be sure to mention your kindness. Come, I’ll take you to our camp.”

Turning, the wood elf raced back up the hill, the half-elf in tow close behind. Though her pace was not as furious as when she raced down the hillside, the journey back up was even more taxing. Gasping for breath, Laera leaned over, her hands resting on her knees for support as she spoke.

“Okay, now I have to warn you, my friend is-” Laera’s sentence was cut short as she looked up to find the half-elf in the clutches of Dreketh’s bronze arm, the blade of her sword held firmly against his throat.

“What’s going on here?” he said grimly, looking at the wood elf from within the shadow knight’s strong-armed embrace. “Who are you that you would do this? For you are no druid!”

“Dreketh, what in Tunare’s name are you doing!” Laera called out to her companion.

“Don’t ever use that name in conjunction with mine, woodie,” Dreketh muttered. “I’m about to give you a lesson in getting things done.”

The half-elf’s nostrils flared with indignity. Without seeing his attacker, he had no way of telling if she was truly a threat, or some whelp that happened to get the drop on him. He glared his malevolence at the wood elf who obviously paraded around as a druid in order to lure trusting people into this vile trap.

“Now listen up, half-breed,” Dreketh spoke into his ear. “You will take us immediately to Faydwer as close to the city of Ak’Anon as you possibly can. One small hint that the spell you’re casting isn’t the one we’re looking for, and you’ll be wearing a new neck size at your own funeral. Understood?”

“Teir’Dal filth!” Veran spat, recognizing Dreketh’s accent. “I just finished slaughtering two of your kind in the Karanas—I can handle you!”

Dreketh pressed her blade against the veins of his neck more insistently.

“Don’t be too sure,” she whispered. Her voice took on a cool and dangerous tone that grew more violent as she spoke. “One jerk on your part, and my blade will end your days on Norrath. And if that doesn’t finish you off, the Touch will, so don’t trifle with me!”

“Dreketh, stop it!” Laera yelled over the storm’s thunder. “I had his full cooperation until you jumped in and-”

“He would have killed me on the spot once he saw me!” Dreketh shouted back, the rain hitting her in torrents as the wind picked up in its fury. “If you don’t know that, then you’re even more naïve than I gave you credit for! The only way a Teir’Dal can get anything in this world is by force! Isn’t that right, half-breed!”

Veran merely gritted his teeth, glaring bitterly at the only person he could see—Laera. The wood elf returned his gaze with a pleading look, silently trying to convince the man that she hadn’t intended to lead him into a trap. But the half-elf’s anger was beyond all reason.

As the rain fell in a flood from the lightning-filled sky, Laera approached both of them with soft steps.

“Please, Dreketh. Just let him go, and we’ll get out of here and pretend this didn’t happen. Please don’t hurt him, Dreketh. I’m begging you.”

The dark elf’s stone cold features froze, save for the water running down her face.

“Cast the spell, half-breed, or you die now,” she said, her eyes fixed on the plaintive wood elf.

“No, Veran, don’t!” Laera’s expression lost all hint of pleading and turned to one of dire threat. “Dreketh, you so much as scratch him, and I swear I’ll make you regret it! I was the one who brought him here, and I refuse to have his blood on my hands! I won’t allow it!”

The shadow knight’s expression remained ominously unchanged.

Laera reached over her shoulder to retrieve her staff. Taking on an aggressive stance, she spoke again over the wind and thunder.

“My oath to Tunare, shadow knight. Kill him, and I’ll send you straight to your Master before you so much as beg for your life!”

“Save your threats, woodie!” Dreketh called back. “I know you! You wouldn’t do that even if you could! The Pact forbids-”

“The Pact won’t mean spit to me, inkie!” Laera screamed. “I’ll tell you one last time, I won’t have this man’s blood on my hands! Let… him… go!”

Dreketh’s cool features turned furious. Hearing the ardor in Laera’s voice, she could detect no sign of deception. The wind picked up to gale force, causing her hair to whip about her head violently, as did Laera’s. Lightning began to flare every few seconds, as though the gods themselves were battling over the clash of wills that took place below.

“I let him go now, and he’ll kill me!” she shouted over nature’s fury.

Seeing the expression on Veran’s face, Laera didn’t doubt it. More likely, he was about to kill them both once he was released.

“Please, Veran,” she called out to him. “This has all been a terrible mistake!”

“Tell it to Tunare, treacherous elf!” he shouted back.

At that moment, a cry went out in the distance. Someone traveling along the road had seen the altercation and was sprinting up the hill.

“Look out!” Laera called, pointing behind the dark elf and her captive.

Heeding the call of danger, Dreketh released the Touch into Veran. The violent shockwave hit the half-elf fully in the chest where her arm crossed it, causing its power to arc straight through his internal organs to the spot where her torso met his back. The Touch reverberated through his quivering body, dimming his senses with searing pain.

The shadow knight released the half-elf with a forceful shove, pitching the man forward into the sodden ground. Twisting about, she prepared herself to meet the newfound threat approaching from behind while Laera immediately ran to Veran’s aid.

“Please, Veran. Just run! Go!” she said pleadingly, helping him regain his footing. In the distance she could hear Dreketh’s blade meet with steel. “I’m begging you! Please just forget this ever happened!”

But the half-elf’s anger was not to be swayed. His eyes bewildered from the Touch, he could barely focus on Laera’s face, yet managed a look of such pure animosity that it became clear he had no intention of letting either of them off the hook.

Lightning flared, followed by an immediate crash of thunder as Laera realized what she must do. Breathing heavily, the wood elf hesitated a moment to whisper a brief prayer of repentance before bringing her staff down on the back of the man’s skull. With a wheezing groan, Veran was rendered unconscious.

Watching the dazed and defenseless half-elf crumple under her vicious blow, Laera gasped.

“How did this happen?” she whispered. “Sweet Tunare, what have I done?”

What she had done was turn against and assault a fellow defender of nature. All good intentions aside, in the end she attacked this dazed and defenseless man. She was a traitor. To make matters worse, he was rendered as such by her ineptitude—her own misjudgment in attempting to keep Dreketh in check.

The sound of clashing metal caught the druid’s attention once again. She looked up through the driven rain to see the shadow knight battling some human warrior several paces away. Though they looked to be equally matched when it came to their fighting skills, Dreketh’s superior weapon and armor soon won out. As the dark elf deftly parried a blow, she whirled about to thrust her weapon backwards beneath her arm. In one swift motion, the blade struck home, its tip piercing cleanly through the human’s unprotected abdomen.

“No!” Laera cried out over the roaring thunder. Standing, she ran to the combatants just in time to see the shadow knight pull her sword loose. The human fell to the ground in a lifeless heap, a dark stain of blood welling on the ground beneath.

White as a sheet, the wood elf skidded to a halt in the mud.

“You killed him!” she shouted. “He was just a bystander!”

“He threatened my life, so I ended his,” Dreketh declared darkly, the storm’s thunder accentuating her words. “Let’s move. If we’re lucky, we can make the Karanas by midnight. There’s nothing more to be done here.”

The dark elf turned, heading east toward the plains, expecting the usually reticent wood elf to fall in line.

“Hate’s mercy, there isn’t,” Laera muttered. Raising her hand outward, she spoke several words of power.

Vines from the earth grew forth amid the watery mud, and began to entangle themselves among the shadow knight’s feet. With a slithering motion, the magical plant began creeping up her armor-clad ankles to her calves, and then snaking further upward to surround her thighs.

“What the-?” Dreketh halted, looking down to her legs. The vine’s tentacles clung together loosely, slowing her steps to a near crawl as she fought to move.

“You have desecrated the Pact, Teir’Dal!” Laera shouted, her fury matching the storm. Her hair flew out of control as she addressed the ensnared dark elf. “Tunare called me on this holy quest on Her behalf. Now, because of your deception, I have betrayed that trust!”

“Release me, woodie!” the dark elf demanded. “Your god intends to see the Pact completed as much as mine!”

“Is this what Tunare intended?” Laera gestured to the unconscious half-elf nearby. “This should not have happened! None of it!” The wood elf pointed an accusing finger at the lifeless body near Dreketh’s feet. “And this… this is cold-blooded murder! This wasn’t some bloodthirsty gnoll or orc! He was human—one of Tunare’s children! He had no chance of defeating you, and you slaughtered him anyway! Is this what the Pact means to you!”

“That foolish human was dead the moment he took his sword to me!” Dreketh shouted back. “I will fight whomever I must fight to fulfill the wishes of my god! I will kill whomever I must kill to survive in doing so! The circumstances are irrelevant! I will see His will done! If you don’t like what you see, then next time I suggest you turn your back, because his blood will not be the last to stain my sword!”

Laera looked aghast at the dark elf, seeing her, perhaps, for the first time. She had always known Dreketh was a true-blooded Teir’Dal through and through—she reminded herself of this fact whenever she started feeling any sort of kinship with her partner. But her mind could not accept that this was the same person who had shown her the ritual of the Vellin Sar. She could not believe that this was the same person who, scant moments before, had been enjoying something as innocent as catching rain with her tongue, not unlike any child.

Such were the Teir’Dal, she told herself coldly. This time, Laera firmly resolved never to forget it.

“I’ll not be a party to murder! As far as I’m concerned, the Pact of Zeranon is over!” she shouted, her words followed closely by a particularly loud thunderclap. “I leave you to your hideous life and your twisted race, dark elf! I’ll have nothing more to do with you and your ways! I hope you spend eternity with your Master, wallowing in the sea of His hatred! It will be half what you deserve!”

With a flourish, the wood elf began using her magic. Dreketh recognized it as the Gate spell that would literally transport the druid to points unknown in an instant. Most likely it would take her back to her homeland, but the dark elf couldn’t be certain. All she knew for sure was that the insane druid must be stopped, whatever the cost.

“Wood elf!” she shouted as swirling bubbles of light surrounded Laera. “You leave now, and I’ll not accept responsibility for breaking the Pact! The sin will be on your shoulders, druid! You hear me? Not mine—yours!”

Struggling as best she could against the wood elf’s entangling bonds, Dreketh tried with all her strength to make her way to where the druid stood casting her spell. Perhaps she could make it there in time to distract her, as they’d seen demonstrated in Xavier’s school. Reaching out, she stretched forth to make a desperate grab for her partner when suddenly her hand turned silhouetted by a clear white flash of magical light. Laera’s spell had come to completion, the blinding light clearing almost instantly, and Dreketh could see no sign of the wood elf’s form among the diminishing spheres.

Tunare’s advocate was gone. The Pact of Zeranon was broken.

Dreketh balled her hands into fists, raising her face to the storm clouds above in an imitation of her earlier innocuous actions. This time her mouth was opened wide in an impotent cry of fury as the dark elf’s ire transcended beyond rage. She had sacrificed everything for the infernal Pact of Zeranon. She sacrificed her gift of necromancy and the life she lived in Neriak. Most painful of all, however, she sacrificed her people. Dreketh stood alone and abandoned in a hostile land with no place to call home, all because of one simple spell cast by her partner—a spell she herself had sacrificed the power to use in becoming a shadow knight.

“Damn you, wood elf! Damn your treachery!” Dreketh’s voice rang out in a clear and perfect harmony with the incessant thunder resounding among the hills. “I will see you dead on the end of my blade! I will taste your blood as it drips from my hands! By Innoruuk’s name, I so swear it! I swear it!”

Chapter 14 - The Enchantress