Laera woke with a start at hearing Dreketh’s grievous cries for the third night in a row. Tossing her covers aside, the wood elf scrambled to kneel on the hard, makeshift cot she made on the floor next to the bed. With firm hands, Laera attended the distressed dark elf, calming her as she called out into the night.

“I’m right here, Dreketh. I’m not going anywhere, it’s all right,” she whispered to her sleeping companion. By now, she knew what words worked best to dismiss the shadow knight’s tortured dreams.

Though Dreketh had long ago managed to compose herself while awake, she grew increasingly distressed at the visions that pursued her while asleep. The words she had once mumbled days ago turned into tortured cries—usually pleas for mercy or calling for the wood elf in a panic. Once in a while, the druid’s ministrations would wake the flailing Teir’Dal, causing her to fully recognize Laera in her feverish throes. Once she saw that her companion was truly there by her side, Dreketh would inevitably collapse into the wood elf’s arms, wracked with sobs until she literally cried herself to back to sleep.

Ultimately, morning would arrive and the dark elf would always stalwartly refuse to discuss her dreams. Laera could only surmise what embarrassment such a weakness would cause a Teir’Dal in the face of a peer, and so never pressed Dreketh into talking about anything she didn’t wish to.

This night was the worst so far. Tossing about in the entangling sheets, Dreketh wailed fevered pleas for forgiveness. She called out to Laera as if over a great distance, begging her to return. The wood elf tried her best to suppress the strong dark elf’s thrashing, fearing that she might re-injure her wounds. All the while, she whispered her assurances that she was there and wasn’t going anywhere.

At long last, Dreketh’s throes subsided without her waking, much to Laera’s relief. It was always easier when the dark elf didn’t wake, allowing Laera the liberty of a few precious moments of additional rest. The combined efforts of caring for the dark elf at night while trying to earn their stay during the daytime had taken its toll on the young wood elf. She fancied herself a morning person, for the most part, but it seemed that she had been meeting the rising sun with increasing angst of late.

Sighing her devout thanks for this blessing, she carefully smoothed out the dark elf’s entangled bed sheets. She tucked the disheveled blanket back under Dreketh’s chin with the utmost care, and sternly reminded herself that this certainly wasn’t a picnic for her dark companion either.

The full moon’s light shown through the window to fall on the now calm and slumbering Teir’Dal face. Distorted as it was by streaks of rainwater running down the glass, the pale moonlight had the uncanny effect of creating tears rolling down the dark elf’s placid cheeks. Laera thought how appropriate the illusion was for Dreketh’s plight.

Risking the chance of waking her companion, Laera reached out a finger to gently brush aside a single string of white hair from Dreketh’s forehead. Mystified, she watched as the dark elf’s “tears” began pouring down the back of her own hand. Months ago, before all this began, she wouldn’t have dreamt of even touching the blue skin of a Teir’Dal. Yet here she was, nurturing one as she would a dear friend or relative—all because of the Pact.

Satisfied that the dark elf was finally settled, Laera lay back down on her cot. Unable to fall immediately back to sleep, she listened to the steady sound of the water hitting the roof. She listened to the rhythmic sound of water dripping into the bowl on the nightstand nearby. All else was silent, as no lightning flashed among the hills of the East Commonlands this night. That was plenty fine by her. It seemed Karana, god of the storm, decided to keep it to a dull roar for once. Tonight presented nothing more than sparse clutters of thunderheads rolling across the sky as they dropped their meager load of rain.

Eerily in tune with the wood elf’s train of thought, one of those clouds moved to obscure the moonlight from the window, causing the room to fall into blackness. Everything darkened all around, depriving Laera of her sight except for the slight red glow of Dreketh on the bed next to her and above. Strangely, Laera didn’t find this event too settling. She normally would welcome the coming of the dark, as it helped encourage what precious little sleep she could get in the course of the night.

Not this darkness. Instead of being comforted, Laera felt stifled and strangled. The feeling became so intense—so invasive and overwhelming—the wood elf sat bolt upright, scanning the small one-room house for the intruder every fiber of her being said was there. Laera’s keen elven eyes, however, insisted the room was empty, save for herself and Dreketh.

Glaring around at the walls of the room, as if silently warning off some invisible assailant, the wood elf lay back down slowly, her head returning to rest on the soft pillow.

This is ridiculous, she thought, clutching her blanket to her chest. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t been afraid of the dark since she was a child! The stress of her situation combined with severe lack of sleep must have been playing tricks on her mind. Closing her eyes, she tried again to go back to sleep.

As her mind drifted with the onset of slumber, she began to hear the familiar voices of her subconscious mind as they fired away among themselves with random phrases she could only partially make out. The longer she dozed, however, the louder and more distinct the voices became, the words they spoke becoming more and more coherent.

Restive and complacent, Laera listened to the words as she would a lullaby. Though they made perfect sense to her now in this dark and protected place of her mind, she knew once she awoke and returned to reality, she wouldn’t remember the words, nor would she be able to repeat them if she did. The words were all meaning and no language. They were her own thoughts in their purest form that no spoken phrase could justly portray.

No, that wasn’t right. There was one word that became accentuated whenever the voices spoke it. Fear. The word caused the placid symphony of her mind to strike a sour chord every tenth note, making the wood elf cringe at the sound of it. Soon, all the voices began speaking the word in unison, causing every note to become sour.

Fear. Fear. Fear.

The word was more than language, for language was interpreted by the mind. Casual listeners were easily able to remove themselves from its frightening portents when heard aloud. Not so with the purity of one’s own mind. The faultless, immaculate meaning of the word entered her soul with each beating of her heart.

Fear! Fear! Fear!

The orchestra of Laera’s subconscious struck every note with increasing ardor—the words that were not words echoing through her head in a terrifying cacophony.

Fear! Fear! Fear!

Thought became reality, and the wood elf’s eyes flared open. The darkness of the house remained, only now it had become alive, suffused with the unseen presence she had felt before. There was no longer any doubt—they were not alone.

Turning her head to see if Dreketh was awake, Laera felt a cold, wet sensation on her cheek. Idly assuming she had probably drooled in her sleep again, she raised a hand to toss the flaccid pillow needlessly aside.

That was when she first noticed it. Lying so still in her sleep, she hadn’t felt it before. But as her forearm rose, she suddenly felt a thick, gooey substance resisting her movement.

Laera looked down to inspect her arm, finding it dripping with black, tar-like ooze that was unusually cold to the touch. Glancing around the room, the moon’s newly reemerging light revealed that the floor was covered wall to wall with the viscous fluid. A heavy, tingling sensation gripped her chest with the realization that she had, in fact, been sleeping in this shallow pool of ooze on the floor.

Her breaths came in gasps. Her own lungs fought her as she tried frantically to call out—first a whimper, then a moan, then a cry. With every rapid breath she took, her voice rose until it became a forced scream as she watched the substance drip gruesomely from her arm to the ground.

The sound woke Dreketh with a start. The dark elf’s head pounded, as usual, but the warrior’s instinct with which she had been trained took over at the sound of danger.

“What! What is it!” the shadow knight called, her eyes darting here and there to seek out any clear and present danger. Her night vision brought the room into perfect clarity, but she could see no creatures about.

“Dreketh!” the tone of Laera’s voice rose with panic.

Sitting up to look over the edge of her bed, the dark elf could now make out the black sea of ooze covering every inch of the floor.

“Innoruuk’s hate, what is that!”

“It’s all over me!” Laera cried as she scrambled to stand amidst the slippery, debilitating substance.

Dreketh reached out her hand.

“Here, climb on the bed,” she said urgently, gritting her teeth as Laera grabbed hold. Her injuries flared painfully under the stress of the wood elf’s weight.

Once her companion climbed to safety on the bed next to her, the dark elf examined the smudges of ooze left on her hand and wrist from the druid’s touch.

“What is this?” she demanded again.

“I don’t know! It’s evil!” was all Laera could say as she violently shook her arm, trying to eradicate herself of it. Looking down at her cot on the floor where she lay only moments before, she saw the black ooze begin to engulf the pillow and covers. “It’s getting deeper!”

Dreketh’s gaze narrowed as she looked around searchingly at the floor, mystified at the subtle movements stirring about in the growing pool. In all her days of study as a necromancer, she had never seen anything like this. The ooze continued to rise steadily, apparently seeping in from beneath the floorboards. She could feel a furtive tremor pass through the mattress beneath her, causing the walls to shudder frighteningly around them.

“Whatever it is, it won’t be long before it reaches us up here,” the dark elf said grimly. Without thinking, the dark elf reached up to grab their packs dangling from a hook on the wall nearby. Before she managed to so much as touch their belongings, she gasped and drew back her arm, favoring it.

Laera immediately forgot about her own struggle with the ooze and bounded across the bed to check the injuries on her companion’s shoulders. Pulling back the dark elf’s red halter-top, she discovered that the cauterizations were still intact. Nevertheless, it was clear the shoulder was still causing her companion a great deal of pain. By her hurried examination, the only thing Laera could guess was that Dreketh’s helping her onto the bed placed too much strain in the wrong place on the dark elf’s arm.

“Does it hurt, shadow knight?” came a deep voice emanating from the rising ooze. Dreketh’s confused look at hearing the disembodied voice vanished as she doubled over with a cry, clutching her shoulder tightly with her other hand. “How about now?”

“Dreketh!” Laera cried, grabbing hold of the paralyzed shadow knight. “What is it! What’s happening!”

The dark elf could only cry out in pain until her lungs were emptied of air. Ducking her head, Dreketh’s mouth remained open as her scream continued silently.

Not knowing what to do, Laera sprang to the edge of the bed to shout over its edge at the presumably sentient tar pit below.

“Stop it! I demand it in the name of Tunare! Stop it now!”

The black ooze shot forth in a gushing wave at the wood elf’s words, striking her squarely in the throat. With a muffled shriek, Laera was pushed from off the bed to strike the wall behind her, an ooze tentacle pinning her there solidly by the neck and chest.

“Tunare is a bit busy attending other issues at the moment, I’m afraid,” the voice spoke from below in mock sympathy.

“Who are you?” the wood elf asked in a strangled voice, pulling impotently against the tentacle with her fingernails. Dangling several feet off the floor, her legs kicked about in her struggles to free herself.

“I am the one who has gone to considerable lengths to locate you—both of you,” the voice replied. “Yet here I find the advocates of the Pact licking their wounds off in some backwater corner of this world. How pathetic. It will be my pleasure to bring an end to the threat you pose to all things here and now.”

Without so much as a squeal, Laera felt the ooze collapse around her windpipe, cutting off all gasps for air that she made. The sound of Dreketh’s cries filled her ears along with the frantic pounding of her own heart, as her struggles became violent thrashings of survival. Stars began to flash before her eyes, and she knew it would not be long before she lost consciousness.

The furious beating of Laera’s heart grew louder in her ears until finally she realized that what she was hearing wasn’t her heart at all, but a vehement pounding against the door. She opened her eyes just in time to see it shatter into splinters, the various pieces falling to land in the ooze with heavy, thudding noises.

“Cazic-Thule!”

In the doorway stood the ranger, crossbow held at the ready. Without pause, he let loose a bolt that struck the tentacle midway between the rolling black pool below and the helpless wood elf pinned above. Laera felt the tentacle’s grip go instantly slack around her neck, causing her to fall on all fours into the ooze with a heavy splash.

“Ah, our sheepdog has returned to rescue his favorite flock,” the voice intoned. The tentacle disappeared back into the pool, taking the lodged crossbow bolt with it. “Have you no concept of your goddess’s will? I doubt She would take kindly to you thwarting Her designs in keeping safe the Cup of Ages.”

“Is the god of terror to be the god of ignorance as well?” the ranger barked his defiant words. “Waste not my time with useless words! Send forth your true minion, coward, and I will defeat it as surely as I have the sycophant of Bertoxxulous!”

The sepulchral laughter of Cazic-Thule emitted from the roiling depths of the ooze. The oily slick bulged ominously as the ranger’s demand was aptly met by the god he mocked.

Rising forth was the gruesome head of an enormous serpent. Scaled black as pitch, the fearsome creature arched menacingly over the ranger standing in the entrance, its head nearly touching the vaulted ceiling above. The normally sticky and cumbersome ooze rolled off the serpent like water from a duck’s back, rapidly cascading down the gleaming scales in mystifying droplets. Two blood-red eyes aimed their loathsome gaze at the ranger, speaking their message of doom in a silent voice of warning.

The wood elf druid looked up from where she crawled on the floor to see the undaunted ranger tossing the spent crossbow aside. With grim threat in his eyes as he peered out from beneath this wide-brimmed hat, he drew his rapier from the scabbard at his hip. The sight of the ranger’s calm, defiant mien made it seem as though it was the serpent who was about to be victimized, and not vice-versa.

A tentacle shot out of the ooze again, streaming toward the ranger. Ducking to a crouch, the human swung the razor-sharp foil above his head, effectively slicing the tentacle in two. The severed portion fell to the ground in a useless puddle behind him. Another tentacle shot out, which the ranger evaded with an agile tuck and roll to stand ready once more.

“Grab your things and get out!” he shouted to the elves inside. More tentacles emerged to entangle them in his grasp.

“Dreketh is hurt! She can’t go anywhere!” Laera called back, her voice in a panic.

Leaping backward, the ranger evaded each successive attack with astonishing feats of agility. Whenever possible, he sliced off another tentacle only to have it replaced by at least two more. It soon became apparent that these tactics were not going to last for long before he was overwhelmed.

“I can’t keep this up!” he yelled. “Escape now or we all die!”

Laera heard the distinct tinge of alarm in the ranger’s voice as he fought. It was true, the ranger was holding his own for now, but even she could see he was quickly tiring from the maneuvers he was forced to make in his skirmish.

Still on her hands and knees, up to her shoulders in sinister ooze, Laera fought to ward off the overpowering feeling of despair surrounding her. Evil was everywhere. Looking about, she saw it saturate everything—the walls, the furniture. Quite literally, she was sitting in the middle of it, wallowing through it as one wallowed in quicksand. There was no longer any point in trying to rid herself of the black fluid, as it now covered every inch of her from neck to toe. She could feel it creep its way through her clothes, penetrating the fabric to press against her skin with its cold, hideous touch.

She felt like giving up and allowing it to rise above her head to engulf her fully, bringing a final end to her futile struggles. With every push she gave in life, something invariably pushed back with equal force, keeping her stalemated. She came to realize that the Pact of Zeranon was not the glorious, heroic quest she once imagined it would be. Instead, it was a series of grueling trials Tunare placed on her, one after another, to see how long it took before Her faithful servant collapsed under the pressure.

The more she learned about the Pact, the more suspect the motives of her goddess became. For the first time in her life, the druid questioned her own divine convictions. What was to happen once the Chalice was discovered? At one time, she would have had faith enough to personally hand the Chalice over to her goddess. She would have trusted blindly that its power would champion the causes of light in the hands of Tunare—she still did.

But the specifics of those causes now stared Laera in the face. Looking over, the wood elf saw Dreketh lying prone on the bed, the dark elf having lost consciousness from the pain Cazic-Thule inflicted on her injury. Laera knew with a certainty that such causes of light would spell the extinction of all Teir’Dal. As a twisted and perverted mockery of the elven form, spawned by the Prince of Hate Himself, the dark elf race was considered an abomination to all life, and must be expulsed from Norrath—so she had been taught all her life.

Now a dark elf was her trusted companion—someone she was sworn to shelter and protect at the cost of her own life. At the behest of Tunare, Laera had come to see in Dreketh a myriad of things she considered forever alien to her blood enemy. Integrity, candor, honesty, loyalty, and even an odd sense of humor all have been portrayed in her companion at one point or another over the past months. Once the Teir’Dal were driven from the face of Norrath, what would happen to those traits? What would become of Dreketh?

Looking at her companion, Laera realized that Dreketh needed her now more than ever. Over the past couple of weeks, Laera had served as the shadow knight’s guardian, slaving to nurse the dark elf back to health day by day.

And now Cazic-Thule sought to end it all as the ooze rose steadily higher, threatening to engulf them both. No, the wood elf said to herself. She would be damned before she allowed anyone under her care to fall victim to such a fate.

Taking a deep breath, the druid forced her legs to move beneath the vile substance that had, by this time, risen to her chin. With grim determination, Laera pushed against the oppressive force all around her, stating her defiance of this wicked and contemptible god. She would deal with Tunare and the Pact another time. Right now, she had more important things to attend to.

She stood tall, the viscous ooze dripping from her limbs. Though the pool still reached the middle of her thighs, the wood elf traipsed over to the bed and grabbed hold of their packs hanging on the wall to sling them over her shoulder. Sliding one hand beneath Dreketh’s knees and the other behind her back, Laera hefted her companion up off the bed and headed toward the door.

“Duck!” The word wafted its way through the druid’s mind just in time for her to react. Turning to face the wall, Laera protected herself and Dreketh from the ensuing blast of fire that impacted the serpent.

“Through the door! Now!”

The wood elf was quick to obey the ranger’s words. With as much speed as the clinging ooze would allow, Laera bullied her way out of the beaten, tar-splattered exit. Once outside, she could see remnants of the ranger’s battle strewn across the muddy grass in the moonlight. Puddles of the black fluid littered the ground, mingling with the red of blood.

A rough hand yanked her free of the house and its malevolent occupant. Holding tightly to Dreketh, Laera stumbled a bit, but caught her footing. Turning, she saw another tentacle reaching out for her that was quickly severed by the ranger’s swift weapon.

“Move! Move!” came the ranger’s urgent voice, accompanied by a brutal shove against her back.

The wood elf didn’t look back. With all her might, Laera’s legs pumped against the ground, placing as much distance between her and Cazic-Thule’s reptilian beast as possible. Her breaths came in gasps, and the cool night air filled her lungs with its excruciating touch. Every breath she took intensified the burning pain in her chest, but she dared not relent for fear of being caught, once again, in that pool of despair.

The ground came up to meet her. Her legs gave way, causing the wood elf to pitch forward into the wet, slippery landscape. Before her panic-muddled mind could determine that anything was wrong, she found herself sprawled on the ground, looking up at Dreketh lying in the mud ahead where she had dropped her.

Though dazed, the sudden fall was enough to rouse the dark elf out of oblivion to look around herself, confused.

“What… what happened?”

“Get up,” Laera cried urgently, scrambling to her own feet and helping the dark elf to stand. “If we don’t get out of here, we’ll be-”

A hand on her shoulder halted the wood elf’s frenzied words. Turning around, Laera found the ranger standing behind her, his eyes peering calmly from beneath his hat. Though winded from his own exertions, the ranger spoke to her in a smooth, collected tone.

“Relax, druid of Tunare,” he said, pausing to catch his breath. “We are far enough away from Cazic-Thule’s minion.”

“It… can’t be… far behind,” Laera argued between gasps.

“As I said, relax,” the ranger repeated sternly. “The tar serpent is a creature spawned by the hand of Cazic-Thule, but it remains unable to travel this plane beyond its native ooze. You and your companion are safe for now.”

Above the ranger’s quiet words, Laera could hear the shrieking cries of the serpent coming from the house in the distance. Judging by the hills and foliage she could see behind her, Laera estimated that she must have run at least two hundred yards through mud and falling rain to land where she did.

“I-…I ran that far?” she gasped. “It was only… a moment.”

“My word to Marr, I have never seen anyone run so fast in my life,” the ranger swore his devout oath. “I was hard-pressed to keep up once you ran off.”

“I was…Dreketh!” Laera whirled back around, her face filled with concern for the dark elf she had so unceremoniously dropped to the ground.

“I’m all right,” came the Teir’Dal’s sullen voice. “It feels like very bone in my body is broken, but I’ll live.” The dark elf blinked, looking up at the ranger standing tall next to Laera. “You come to our aid yet again, friend. Thank you.”

Though her words were curt and abrupt, the depth of Dreketh’s sincerity was not lost on her audience, who nodded once slowly, accepting her gratitude in silence.

Sighing in relief, Laera collapsed to the ground once again and whispered a word of devout thanks. This time, however, her words were not directed toward her goddess. Somehow it didn’t feel right this time.

Instead of dwelling on this twinge of conscience, Laera lowered her head to the ground, exhausted from her flight. Through the steady sound of the falling rain, the continued screeching of Cazic-Thule’s serpent rang through the trees and hills of the Commonlands.

The remainder of the night passed uneventfully as the ranger stood watch over the companions’ impromptu camp. Bouts of light rainfall crossed their way like spirits in the night across the Commonlands, but the storms never amounted to much. Eventually the serpent of Cazic-Thule lost impetus, its distant cries of frustration growing ever weaker as the minion’s power to survive in the world of Norrath dwindled.

Silence ruled supreme at the break of dawn, save for the stirrings of small creatures as they began their usual morning routines. Birds greeted the sun with their songs amid the treetops. Ever vigilant, as he was throughout the night, the ranger sat upon a large, half-buried boulder watching the sun’s ascent to the east. Streaking sunlight penetrated the towering trees all around, causing pale shafts of flaxen light to suffuse the vegetation surrounding him.

Taking in a deep breath, the ranger had to admit that for all of Shalyndrial’s fanciful musings, she certainly had a point about dawn’s light. It was most unusual for an enchantress, of all people, to appreciate the splendor and glory of nature’s creations. Usually that remained the territory of the druid and ranger—not some book-reading recluse who spent her time studying in musty libraries.

Turning his head slightly, the ranger listened to the companions rousing from their sleep. Surprisingly, there were few sounds of bickering coming from behind him, as the young women went about their preparations to break camp. The familiar scent of boiled Taro Root wafted its way to the ranger’s nose, taking him back to his early days of adventure when he had made the very same dish for breakfast. He smiled nostalgically at the memory of having to stomach the bitter-tasting plant when there was nothing else around to forage.

A rustling in the leaves on the ground alerted the ranger to someone’s approach—probably the druid. Returning his gaze to the sunrise before him, he adjusted the brim of his hat to rest lower over his eyes.

“Um…excuse me?” came Laera’s timid voice from several feet behind.

The ranger made no response, nor did he give any sign he was about to.

“We’re fixing some breakfast back here,” the wood elf continued, hesitant to disturb the ranger in his watch. “You’re more than welcome to join us. If you’re hungry, that is.”

“My little druid,” the ranger said in his rasping voice, “I have consumed more Taro Root in my lifetime than you have breathed air. No thanks, I won’t be joining you.”

Laera swallowed.

“Well…is there anything we can do to thank you for your kindness in watching over our sleep? We owe you a great debt after all you’ve done for us last night and before-”

“No,” the ranger replied curtly. “There is nothing I require from you, nor is there anything you have that is of value to me.”

At hearing the ranger’s abruptness, Laera meekly turned around to make her way back to the camp. She shrugged, figuring he was loath to be disturbed at the moment, when she stopped suddenly. Something deep inside the druid that had been touched by Dreketh’s cynicism tugged at her, calling attention to a burning question. After a moment’s consideration, the wood elf decided it must be answered.

Laera turned back around.

“Then why are you looking out for us?”

“I have my reasons,” the ranger replied.

“But-”

“Listen to me, druid, and understand,” the ranger continued. “What happens to two lost children is of little interest to me.”

Laera pressed her lips together resolutely. Balling her hands into small fists, she stood erect and walked around the ranger to look him straight in the eyes.

“Really?” she said, her expression stern—almost comically so as she confronted the seasoned ranger. “Then why follow us? Do you make it a habit to pursue all ‘children’ around Norrath, wiping our noses, or is it just the young and helpless females that catch your fancy?”

“I saved your ‘young and helpless female’ asses more than once,” the ranger returned in a quiet, but scathing voice. “More often than not, you didn’t even know the danger was present before I fitfully put it to rest. The least you could do is show some respect.”

“I thought you didn’t want anything from us?” Laera asked peevishly, her hands spread wide.

“I don’t,” the ranger replied. Standing quickly, he turned to take his leave from this impudent upstart.

“I’ve known people just like you!” Laera’s voice rose to catch the ranger’s attention, halting him. “Standing so high in your ivory tower, shrouded in all your righteous deeds saying ‘look at me, I’m the sacrificing hero who saves the day!’ Where is the prestige when you think it entitles you to treat others like dirt because they don’t measure up to your moral stature? Huh?”

The ranger turned halfway to look the wood elf in the eyes, but Laera stood firm.

“I was sent out here by a person exactly like you,” she continued. “Someone I held in awe until I actually met him. Now I see him as nothing but a cruel and heartless demagogue who feeds off the merits of his own glory.

“So yes, we owe you a debt. But if it means we have to constantly deal with your superiority, then we’d just as soon be without your company until the next time you feel the need to trump yourself up.”

Turning, Laera began to stomp off back toward the camp.

“Wait.” The ranger held forth a gloved hand. Laera stopped, her features a cold mask of stone as she felt the mysterious man approach from behind. “I fear I have given you a mistaken impression of me,” she heard his voice speak softly.

“Who are you?” Laera whispered. “We don’t even know your name.”

“I don’t give it out to many,” the ranger admitted. “Most people are content with calling me ‘hey you.’”

The wood elf turned, detecting a hint of remorse in the man’s voice. The ranger spoke again, however, before she could make any comment.

“Where’s your companion?” he asked evenly.

Laera cast an offhand glance back at the camp.

“Dreketh’s bathing down at the lake,” she replied.

“You’re not supposed to be far from one another, you know,” the ranger said.

“Well, I draw the line when it comes to-” Laera halted in mid-sentence, her gaze narrowing suspiciously. “What…what are you talking about?”

The ranger sighed through his nose sharply, shaking his head.

“You have no gift for subterfuge, druid.” Turning, the ranger returned to the boulder he had been sitting on.

Her interest piqued, Laera followed.

“You…you know about the Pact?” she asked, her voice low.

The ranger cast the druid a brief, non-committal glance, his gaze quickly returning to the rising sun.

“You seem surprised.”

“Well…I am, a little.” The wood elf shrugged as she sat on the boulder next to him. “So far, everyone we’ve met who knew anything about the Pact has tried to kill us.”

The ranger smiled in spite of himself, his expression hidden in the shadows of his hat. Several moments of silence passed before Laera posed another burning question she had wanted answered for a long time.

“You’re a follower of Erollisi Marr…aren’t you?”

The ranger turned a probing eye to the wood elf.

“What makes you think that?”

“Before you left us in Kithicor, you said that you do what you do out of love,” Laera replied softly.

“I could have been talking about anything,” he countered, his voice sharp and emotionless.

“That’s what I thought at first,” the wood elf nodded once, rising to the challenge. “But then we found out about Zeranon’s Chalice and which god now has it.”

The ranger froze his gaze in place, making no comment.

“Then I thought if there was one god whose minion would not be out to kill us like everyone else, which one would it be?” Laera continued, raising an eyebrow. “Erollisi Marr topped my list. Of all the gods—even Tunare Herself—Erollisi’s minion would not be a murderer…would he?”

“Your theory is flawed,” the ranger said. “Erollisi Marr wishes to keep the Chalice safe from the hands of Innoruuk and your goddess. If I were sent by the Queen of Love, why would I strive to protect you?”

The wood elf leaned forward, her eyes clear.

“You tell me.”

The ranger laughed—a rare occurrence for the stoic man.

“Now I question if a gift is the only thing you lack, druid.” Laera bristled at the ranger’s remark. “But regardless of your reasoning at how you’ve come to this conclusion, I will answer your question.”

The ranger paused dramatically.

“I am not a worshipper of Erollisi Marr,” he said.

Laera’s skeptical eyes continued searching the ranger’s hidden face in vain. Though she found no hint of deception, something inside her still refused to accept his words as the truth.

“I don’t believe you,” she said plainly.

“And do you know why you don’t believe me?” the ranger asked, his dour voice tinged with derision.

“Enlighten me,” Laera replied shortly.

The ranger leaned in close to speak conspiratorially with the wood elf.

“Because you still don’t know enough to ask the right questions,” he said in a furtive tone. “You believe that the little tidbit of knowledge you’ve gleaned from the Library in Erudin has given you special insight into what is really going on. You couldn’t be more wrong—as you are about to discover once you reach Faydwer.”

Laera’s sharp eyes followed the ranger as he stood and stepped deftly to the ground.

“If you have all the insight,” she asked, “then why not just tell me what I need to know and save us all the trouble?”

The ranger looked up at the wood elf, now sitting alone on the boulder

“Because it will take time for you to travel to Ak’Anon,” he said. “And right now, time is exactly what the Pact needs for all parties involved—your own goddess included.”

Laera scowled, resenting the fact that throughout their entire conversation, this enigmatic human had revealed nothing at all useful. Furthermore, if her gut feeling was correct, he even lied to protect his own identity and motives.

The ranger glanced toward the rising sun once again.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “You had better find your friend and get a move-on to Freeport. The faster you get there, the faster you arrive on Faydwer and the sooner you will have the answers you seek.”

Having said his peace, the ranger began to take his leave when he stopped to turn and speak parenthetically in a sardonic voice.

“Oh, and by the way… The name’s Ranin Treestalker,” he said, bowing in his self-introduction. “I hope that helps you.”

The wood elf sat, watching the ranger walk off in the distance.

“Thanks for nothing,” she said under her breath.

Chapter 18 - Legends