The sun was just rising over the horizon when Aklar, Druid of the 9th level, struck camp. Her belongings neatly stowed in her backpack, she performed her daily ritual of thanks to Tunare, and was on her way. The flat plains of Western Karana stretched out around her for miles. In the distance she saw a pride of lions bounding along, and altered her path to skirt wide around them. Druids lived in harmony with all of nature, but she had been forced to kill a young lioness that had attacked her yesterday, and feared the smell of its blood would enrage these. Her heart hurt for the animal's death, but she knew, too, that Tunare would understand. The law of nature was survival of the fittest, and the wildlife of Western Karana was not as friendly as the bears of Surefall Glade.

Her duties here were wearing on her. The bears and wolves here were not friendly at all. They were as willing to attack as the lions. And the few treants she had come across were barely willing to acknowledge her presence. She was never going to make the 10th level in this barren place.

Ahead of her there rose a small hill, its sides scoured bare by the ever-present winds of the plains. A ways up there was a camp of a few tents, arranged in a circle. Fires sent smoke up into the sky, and a welcome smell of cooking came to Aklar. Her own store of food was low, and she turned her steps toward the tents, hoping for hospitality, or at least the chance to trade healing for food. One of her spells, learned on her achievement of the 5th level, could cure disease, always in demand with the high incidence of rabies.

But as she approached the foot of the hill, Aklar felt a blow from behind that staggered her and sent a jolt of pain through her right shoulder. She spun, dropping into a defensive stance, and freeing her warhammer from the thong at her waist. Before her stood a human man, dressed in full leather armor, his fists clenched and a nasty scowl on his face.

"Surely we can discuss this," Aklar began, and he drew back his fist and punched her in the face. Her head snapped back and she almost went sprawling. The rage that the Druid Masters had so shaken their heads over welled up in her, and she flung herself at the man with a scream of rage. Her warhammer whistled through the air, landing with a solid thump on the man's right arm, driving him sideways. As he staggered, she began the gestures and as he righted himself, an explosion of fire burst in the air about him. He beat out the flames frantically, and she advanced on him again, hammer held high.

She was beating the aggression out of the misguided wanderer in quite satisfactory manner, when a second attack from behind took her by surprise. A sword whistled through the air where her head had been a second ago, and she whirled to see another leather clad man, this time half-elven, coming at her with grim intent written clearly on his otherwise quite handsome features. She backed up, eyes moving from one attacker to the other. Cursing her bad luck, she prepared to go down fighting. They rushed her.

It was no good. She managed to finish off her original attacker, but the other was much stronger, much better trained in battle, and she was already tired and wounded. Her breath coming in harsh pants, her strength fading, she was preparing her soul for Tunare's embrace, when a wash of blue light flooded about her, and she felt herself revived.

"Hurry and kill him!" A High Elf was standing at her side, wielding a great staff with enthusiasm, if not much skill. "Their camp is just up the hill." The two of them put down the half-elf without much trouble, and looting the bodies quickly, left the hill behind them as fast as they could.

Looking sideways at her companion as they ran, Aklar sized him up. Not much older than her, he seemed frail, but that could be only because of his race. Other than the staff, he carried little equipment, and seemed ill-prepared for such a foray into the sparsely populated Karanas. His lean face held the look of hard travel, however, a kind of wind-worn weariness that marred his Elven good looks only a little.

"Thank you," she said. "You saved my life."

"It is my calling," he answered with a winning smile. "I AM a cleric, after all." Perhaps it marred them not at all. When he smiled...

"I didn't know that people out here were quite so unwelcoming. I only wished to purchase food."

He stopped in his tracks, and she paused, looking inquiringly at him. He stared at her as if not sure what he had heard.

"You aren't, that is to say, I saw you use magic, so...You couldn't by any chance be a Rogue?" he asked almost diffidently.

"A Rogue!" Aklar repeated, offended to her toes. "No, by Tunare. I am a Druid," she said proudly. "A Druid of the 9th level."

"Take no offense, I only meant...well, only rogues tend to go to the bandits camp by themselves."

"Bandit camp," she repeated, feeling a little faint and quite stupid. "I thought they were further south."

"No, no, that was it. Back there. That you almost wandered into like a lost kitten." A smile grew on his face and turned into a laugh before he hid it with a cough and a raised hand.

She turned and began walking with slow dignity West.

The cleric caught up with her within three strides.

"My apologies, Druid. Rude of me to mock another's ignorance." He sounded truly ashamed of himself, and she glanced at him and nodded. "I am Anthiel, Cleric of the 8th level, from Felwithe."

"I am Aklar." She clasped his arm in greeting. "What is one from so far to the east doing wandering the Karanas? Not but that you seem to be better informed than I about the area," she added ruefully.

"I only know the look of bandits. I can recognize a camp. A friend of mine is in Qeynos," he answered. "I am to meet him there and then go to join the fight in BlackBurrow."

Aklar's upper lip curled before she could restrain herself. "That foul pit of Tunare-abandoned poachers? I have been there. It is a good thing you do, Cleric Anthiel. The Gnolls have become most aggressive of late. They trouble us even in Surefall. Mammoth herself has been assaulted." Aklar grasped her hammer in anger at the desecration.

"Mammoth?" inquired Anthiel.

Startled, she looked at him, and then flushed red. To speak of Druid mysteries in front of an uninitiated! Te'anara would have some sharp words to say if she had heard. Aklar cursed her flapping tongue. She would never make the 10th level if she did not learn self control.

"Again, my apologies, Druid Aklar, I have intruded where I had no right." The Elf bowed before her.

"No, it was my indiscretion. You have no fault in it. Though I would ask that you not mention it again, to me or anyone else."

He bowed again.

"Of course, Druid. We are, after all, battlemates." He smiled.

"Yes," Aklar smiled back. "Please, as you will, call me Aklar."

"It is my honor. And you, call me Anthiel."

"Honor to me," Aklar replied formally, with a broader smile. Those who called the High Elves smug and full of themselves must simply never have met one.

"If I may ask," he began, "where are we going?"

"To Qeynos Hills pass," she answered, a little surprised. "Weren't you going to Qeynos?"

"Yes... but I lost the path after encountering you, and I am now entirely lost. Glad I am to hear you are not so." He laughed.

"I shall take you to the city gates themselves," she said. "As thanks for your most timely assistance."

"Then it is I who shall be in your debt," he said, and smiled warmly.

Aklar looked away, her heart beating a little quicker. Truly, the man was beautiful. She had heard of the elegance and grace of High Elves, and now the truth made the stories pale in comparison.

"Perhaps, if your friend would not mind, that is... I have been to Black Burrow and could be of use."

"I would be pleased to have you join us," he answered. "Friends can be hard to find so far from home."

Aklar inclined her head. Te'anara could not protest her going to Black Burrow this time. She was much more experienced, ready for the challenge. And others could patrol the Karanas with the treants. It was a worthy service, but beyond boring at times. Treants were noble, honorable, blessed of Tunare, but hardly scintillating conversationalists. Besides, she would like to know more of the High Elves. Only a fool passed up the opportunity to learn. Anthiel was very...interesting. They traversed the pass without incident and made their way through the Hills without stopping. Twice they passed other adventurers fighting wolves, but Aklar averted her gaze and kept on past them. Holly and Cros were the fanatics, not her. She felt disgust, but it was not her place to teach others the way to Tunare, especially not at the end of a weapon.

Quickly the two found themselves at the gates of Qeynos.

"Where were you to meet with your friend?" Aklar asked. Anthiel was scanning the surrounding countryside, searching the face of everyone entering or exiting Qeynos.

"Here," he said absently. "We were to meet before the gates..." He trailed off, taking two steps toward a figure approaching along the path.

"Anthiel!" boomed the barbarian, throwing massive arms around the slim Elf.

"Freygar!" gasped Anthiel, struggling to free his arms and return the embrace. The barbarian dropped him to the ground, and approached Aklar.

"Dare I hope this blossom accompanies you?" Freygar bowed deeply before her. Aklar's mouth quirked in an amused grin.

"May I present Aklar, Druid of the 9th level. She has graciously agreed to come with us to Black Burrow." Anthiel smiled at her. Aklar pushed her shoulders back and cocked a hip under the barbarian's gaze, returning it with a slow head to toe perusal that had him straightening his back.

"My honor," she said, and bowed before him. This could prove an interesting journey, indeed.

"Did I say blossom? A peach, in truth, friend Anthiel. My name is Freygar, milady Druid. A warrior of the 10th level." His smile was anything but formal.

"Well," said Anthiel hurriedly. "We have provisions to buy, Freygar, so..."

"Good, good! I have saved enough to finally buy some chainmail! So we will part and meet here again in an hour? Good!" The huge man strode off without awaiting assent.

"He is a tad overwhelming, but good of heart," said Anthiel, looking at her with a wry smile.

"Indeed," answered Aklar absently, her eyes following the tall form.

"Well," said Anthiel again, and cleared his throat. Aklar wrenched her eyes back around. "Perhaps we should look to the provisions?"

"Of course," Aklar put an arm around the Elf's shoulders and guided him in through the gates. "I suggest we let me do the purchasing. The shopkeeps know me well and I can no doubt get a better price than you."

Anthiel trailed after her as she purposefully made her way into the city. She would go to Black Burrow, and serve Tunare so well that she would doubtless be made level 10 inside of a week. Te'anara herself would be impressed. Perhaps she would even get to guard Mammoth! It was not beyond comprehension. Bren, that simpering cat, could not hold Te'anara's favor forever. And even if not...Aklar's mouth curved up in a smile. Travelling with two such men could not but prove...interesting.

It was night before they met again, Freygar now attired in a handsome chainmail shirt. Aklar wondered to herself how he had managed to accumulate wealth so quickly. The man was scarcely older than herself. It was not polite to pry and so she kept her wondering to herself. She gave his shirt a few sideways glances until she realized he thought she was admiring him. He inflated his chest every time her eyes fell on him. She pulled her eyes away, biting back a laugh. Truly, men were most amusing to have around.

"Ready?" she asked, and without waiting for an answer, turned and ran off into the night.

The three of them soon left the glow of the city behind, moving with the ground-eating lope of the experienced adventurer. They were into the Hills and halfway to Surefall when Aklar veered off the path and cut cross-country toward BlackBurrow. Fear began to worm in her guts, but she pushed it firmly down. She had been too young, and a fool besides, when she had been there last. She had learned from her mistakes. She hoped.

Too soon, a yellow glow rose ahead of her, and she slowed to a walk. Her companions caught up and she raised a finger to her lips.

"You have been here before, Freygar?" she asked quietly.

"Once, though not for long," he answered in the same hushed tone.

"Watch yourselves," she cautioned. "There are scouts and watchers all over these hills."

They avoided notice, and slipped into the yawning mouth of the tunnel without incident. A wolf howled somewhere in the night, and Aklar shivered, not in fear this time, but anticipation. Let the Elders say what they might, battle was where she belonged.

"Anthiel, you stay back as much as possible. You are here to keep us alive. Freygar and I will handle the fighting." Freygar grinned at her, eyes lit with excitement.

"Nothing like bloodshed to make you feel alive, eh little sister?" His teeth showed alarmingly through his smile. She returned it, feeling a wolf stirring inside her. Anthiel laughed quietly, adrenaline turning it edgy and a little wild. The tunnel walls reflected their lights, shadows dancing erratically. Aklar took a deep breath and rounded the final bend.

BlackBurrow itself was quiet. Ominously so. No Gnolls on the surface at all. Aklar could smell blood in the air. She paused, head shifting warily, eyes searching, and then padded cautiously out of the entrance. Her two companions followed, weapons drawn, faces tight.

"It's too quiet," began Anthiel, when he was interrupted by a shout.

"TRAIN!" yelled the wild-eyed half-elven Ranger as he catapulted from the tunnel. Half a dozen others followed him up, and behind them...

Twenty or more Gnolls poured from the tunnel like a green and gray tide of death, howling for blood and waving any number of various weapons. One human woman, a wizard by her robes, was pulled under and cut to pieces before Aklar could blink. Then the fleeing people were rushing past her.

"Hold!" she cried. "Hold and we can stand against them!" The adventurers hit the wall behind her and turned, like wolves at bay. Then the Gnolls were on them, snapping and snarling like crazed dogs.

She fought grimly, as if her hammer could keep death from her if it rose and fell fast enough. Time slowed, and Gnolls leapt toward her and fell beneath her strokes as if in slow motion. Twice the cooling wash of blue light swept around her, healing her wounds and clearing the fatigue of overused muscles. She saw Anthiel fall out of the corner of her eye, and snatched a precious moment in between a Gnoll commander's blows to cast her own, less effective healing. Anthiel staggered up and got his back against a wall. Freygar was in the thick of it, exchanging blows with no less than three Gnolls, one a commander. She tore herself loose from the fight, saw her opponent turn on a mage and back up to where Anthiel leaned gasping against the stone.

"Are you all right?" she panted. He nodded, not speaking. "Can you heal me again?" He raised weary arms and performed the gestures. Feeling her strength surge, she nodded, and then pushed him toward the exit tunnel. "Go! You cannot help us anymore!" He stumbled away with a stricken look and then paused, glancing back at her.

"What do you mean to do?"

"GO!" she shouted and he turned away and broke into a shambling run. She turned toward the fight. Freygar was flagging, his sword rising and falling more slowly now, his face twisted with determination. Others fared no better. Three were down and there were aborted flashes of light as spells were interrupted. They could not stand. The Gnolls were too strong, too many. Everyone was going to die here. Her mana was almost gone, only enough left for one spell. But maybe, maybe she could buy time. Aklar cleared her mind, raised her arms, and called on Tunare to help her. The walls of the tunnel flickered, and then lightning bolts flashed down into the massed Gnolls, each one striking gray-furred flesh. They howled louder than before, and almost as a mass turned toward her. Some fell, struck dead by her magic, but too many were left to deal with.

"Oh, shit," she whispered, her knees going weak. They were between her and the exit. They came at her, and she gulped a breath and went to meet them at a run. As they crashed into her, she leapt, using a commander's shoulder to help her up, and did a forward roll over their tightly packed backs. Swords and scythes cut into her, and clubs beat at her legs, but she landed on her feet and sprinted for the door. A mass of people blocked the exit for a minute and then they were through. She staggered to a stop against the wall and then slid down it, her wounds on fire and her head aching. They wouldn't follow, she knew. Gnolls had an almost superstitious fear of the outside world, except for the adventuresome few that volunteered for scouting.

Freygar grasped her shoulders and set her on her feet. She winced in pain, but he hardly noticed, enfolding her in a hug that would have staggered a hill giant. She gasped, eyes popping, as the last of her breath left her lungs.

"Well done!" he boomed deafeningly. The others from inside Black Burrow surrounded her, patting her back and laughing. "You saved my life! I owe you a great debt, Druid Aklar!" She was going to go deaf. Anthiel stood slowly, and began casting healing on everyone, one at a time. People lost their wild-eyed looks and began congratulating each other on their survival. The blue flickers of healing began to glow around several of the combatants. Others sat and meditated. Aklar got an arm free and pounded on Freygar's shoulder.

"Let me down," she demanded testily. He set her down as if she was made of glass, and bowed gravely before her.

"As you command, milady," he mocked her gently. She sat down abruptly, and glared at him, daring him to laugh.

"They were not this bad before," said the half-elf Ranger, shaking his head. "They were not so numerous. They have begun breeding like vermin."

"They are vermin," snapped a petite half-elven warrior, binding her wounds with angry jerks. "They are planning something. I know it. Why else would they need such numbers?"

"Someone must tell Antonius Bayle." The monk stood and solemnly surveyed the crowd. 'He will know what to do."

"Antonius Bayle," muttered Aklar. "He cannot even keep his guards uncorrupted unless they are under his eyes. What can he do?"

"Someone must be told." Anthiel looked around.

Aklar stood. "I must go to Surefall and tell the Elders of the Glade. Te'anara must know of this." Freygar and Anthiel came up to her, opening their mouths, and she raised a hand. "Alone. I will meet you at the cottage in the hills in two nights." They nodded and she sat down to meditate for a minute. She felt mana slowly flow into her, like a whisper of wind through trees. When she had enough, she rose again, and cast her spell without pause. Grey-silver shimmering balls rose from the ground at her, feet, a great globe of silver light encased her, and she round herself before the entrance to Surefall. Squaring her shoulders, she entered. The familiar twisting tunnel took her into the quiet glade, with its tall trees and quiet pool. She acknowledged the greetings of the Rangers and Druids without really seeing them. The huge tree that housed the Druid's guild hall loomed before her, and she paused to collect her thoughts. Te'anara probably thought she was still in the Karanas. Not that Druids took orders, exactly, but it had been strongly suggested that she watch over the bears there. A matter of learning patience, Te'anara had said. Well, she was patient. The lesson had been learned. Te'anara could not fault her, not when she brought such important news. Aklar took a deep breath, and entered. It was cool inside the hollow of the Great Tree. Druids lined the walls, casting spells and talking quietly, a few with shaggy wolves panting amiably at their feet. The ceiling rose up into the tree, disappearing into darkness over Aklar's head. The sap of the living tree pulsed in the walls, a flickering light that filled the place with a soft wavering glow. As always, when she came here, Aklar could feel the harmony of nature, the loving gaze of Tunare like a palpable touch on her skin. Here, it never seemed hard to live in peace, to do no harm. Here, she could remember what it had felt like the first time she heard the Tunare's call, that soft surging like the wind, like tree sap in spring, like the flow of a stream over rounded pebbles. It was impossible not to feel humbled and awed.

Te'Anara stood behind the great wooden Meeting Table at the back of the chamber, discussing something with a few Druids of the Conclave and Hagar Sureshot, the Master Ranger. They looked intent and worried, and Aklar paused just inside the entrance, hesitant about interrupting. Te'Anara shook her head firmly and Hagar laid a hand on her arm, leaning forward, pressing his point. One of the Druids stepped forward, lips thinning, and Te'Anara stopped her with a gesture. She plucked Hagar's hand from her arm and moved smoothly back from him as he reached out again. His hand dropped, and he made a stiff formal bow before turning on his heel and stalking away. Aklar moved quickly aside as he made for the entrance. His face as he passed her was a mask of frustration and… it couldn't be… fear. Fear on the normally unflappable Ranger was enough to make the knot in Aklar's stomach draw achingly tight. Hagar was like rock, immovable, impervious. What could be bad enough to make him show such obvious emotion?

"Aklar." Te'Anara's voice was like the stab of a thorn. Aklar jumped and spun toward her. The Druid's face was smooth and calm as always, but her eyes could have drawn blood. "I had thought our conversation about the Karanas had been clear to the both of us. Or have you learned patience so quickly? I find myself that some days it is an uphill battle."

Aklar flinched slightly. Te'Anara had never been so sharp with her. Her legendary serenity was a thin veneer today. Taking her courage in both hands, she advanced slowly into the chamber. All conversation had ceased, and making the short trip from the door to the table was like march of shame, with everyone's eyes fixed on her. Her assignment to the Karanas had been a private matter between her and Te'Anara, but now everyone would know. Aklar's cheeks burned, but she kept her head high, and made the walk with as much dignity as she could muster.

It slipped like sand through her hands, however, when she finally stood face to face with Te'Anara. The Head Druid looked at her expressionlessly. Aklar swallowed.

"Leave us, please, my friends," she said finally, and Aklar felt a brief moment of relief as she turned her gaze on the others in the room, gathering them up by eye and sweeping them out. They left, murmuring swift courtesies, some with sympathetic gazes at Aklar. One or two looked at her with thinly concealed satisfaction. There were many that felt that the Head Druid had been too lenient for too long. Then Te'Anara turned to her again and her mouth went dry.

"Well?" demanded Te'Anara. "What is your excuse this time? Boredom? A yearning for home? Or did you have another feeling, like the one that drove you to enter BlackBurrow at the 4^th level? I grow tired of speaking and having my words ignored. If I cannot inspire obedience, surely some level of respect is not too much to ask. For you to walk in here, not two weeks after I reassign you! Aklar, do you not think at all?"

"Te'Anara, I..." she began.

"No. I will not hear it. If you cannot be trustworthy than you cannot expect trust. You gave me your word, Druid. It was false. Why should I listen, then, to what you say? Of all times, Aklar, for you to let your Fellowship down…" Te'Anara turned swiftly away, but not before Aklar saw tears glisten. Shame washed over her like a flood. Te'Anara, weeping!

"Druid Te'Anara," she began formally. "I have erred grievously, and I will formally submit myself to the Conclave if that is your will, but I have urgent news." Te'Anara's back stiffened. "I…" Aklar faltered, fearing the storm that she would surely brew with her confession. "I went back to Blackburrow." Te'Anara, slowly turned, head tilted slightly as if not sure what she had heard.

"What?" she said dangerously.

"I accompanied two adventurers who wished to lend assistance to the fight. I guided one in from the Karanas, that's why I abandoned my assignment, which," Aklar swallowed, "I will stand accountable for to the Conclave. They needed me, Te'Anara. You always say the Tunare touches us not in miracles but through the patterns of our lives. I swear, I felt that there was a part for me to play in this. I have learned much. I have! And it was well that I went." Aklar faltered under Te'Anara's ominous silence.

"Well?" she said in frozen tones.

"The Gnolls are massing. They are much more numerous than they have been in recent months. They are gathering their numbers for some nefarious purpose, keeping underground, recalling scouts and watchers, protecting their caverns more fiercely than ever. I saw it with my own eyes, Te'Anara."

"You saw it." Te'Anara pinched the bridge of her nose as if her head pained her. "Aklar," and Aklar winced at her tone. "You feel that with your vast experience, you can judge the tactical strategy of the Sabretooths? You have become a military strategist when I didn't notice? Is this what the Karanas taught you?" Her voice was rising steadily, and when Aklar opened her mouth, Te'Anara rode over her without a pause. "I cannot believe that you would invent such a tale to escape your duties. I am appalled, Druid! Have I taught you nothing? Even if your story were true, it is not a Druid's duty to become involved in such matters. Our charge is the forest, the trees and beasts our responsibility. Let the city dwellers become embroiled in war if they so wish. It is a corrupt pursuit for the corrupt. We are outside, we hold ourselves apart. It is who we are! If you cannot accept that, then you do not belong here."

"Are you blind?" Aklar fought to contain her anger. "Hold ourselves apart? Outside of war? The Gnolls will not agree with you, I am sure. Already the poachers encroach on us. That is how much they respect our stance of non-involvement. As for our duties," and Aklar took a step forward. "I have read the old texts and there was a battle clan in the old times, a clan that marched alongside warriors of Qeynos. Stand aside if you will, Te'Anara. I cannot!"

"Then you will stand alone." Te'Anara's eyes were distant. Aklar felt a cold hand grip her heart. Alone…

"Are you casting me out, Head Druid? You will need the consensus of the Conclave." Her lips felt stiff and numb.

"I think it is best if you just go." The Head Druid turned away and laid a hand on the wall as if for support. The glowing sap ringed and pulsed under the pressure. Aklar stared at her back for a long moment, wanting to say something, wanting to take it back…but she would not lie, not to herself, not to Te'Anara. Not to Tunare, and she did feel the Great Mother's Hand in this. But to be alone…

"As you wish," she whispered, and slowly made her way out. She paused in the entrance, wanting to lay her face against the Great Tree and weep, but she forced herself to leave, each step like ripping a part of her soul away. Her home, her life…

"Tunare help me," she prayed, the tears beginning to slowly slide down her cheeks. "Guide my soul."

Te'Anara pressed her forehead against the Tree's skin and closed her eyes. Steps behind her failed to make her look up.

"I wouldn't have thought to choose her," Hagar's deep voice was worried..and thoughtful.

"I didn't." Te'Anara wearily lifted her head. "Tunare did. I must trust in the Goddess, but Hagar," she turned to him, face anguished. "She is so young! And I drove her away, made her think she is alone."

"We must go on as we began," Hagar too looked tired. And old, as if care and worry had made weeks into years.

"I know." Te'Anara went to the door and gazed after Aklar's retreating figure, shoulders bowed under a weight she seemed barely able to bear. "May the Mother forgive us both."

Aklar left Surefall Glade in a state of shock and sorrow. Lost in her private misery, she failed to see the concerned looks of her fellow Druids, or those of the Rangers who shared the sanctuary. She went past Ran Walker at the tunnel entrance without hearing him call after her, his duty alone preventing him from running after her. She went into the gloom of the tunnel and knew its darkness to be nothing compared to the shadow hanging over her heart.

Cast out. Never to call Surefall home again, never to know the peace and sanctity of the Great Tree. Aklar stumbled over a low ridge of stone in the floor.

"No," she whispered. "No!" She straightened, clenching her fists. "I am a true Druid. I have felt Tunare's call. No one can change what the Goddess has decreed. Not even you, Te'Anara." Her sorrow turned slowly to anger. "I will return," she vowed., and strode out of the tunnel's end into the bright light of day.

"It is past time, Anthiel," said the tall barbarian, searching the surrounding hills for the twentieth time that morning.

"She will come." His companion sat placidly on an upturned barrel beside the steps of the small cottage-like shop, legs folded beneath him, at peace with himself and the world, to all outward appearances.

"She is late," grumbled Freygar. He halted his pacing in front of the High Elf Cleric, and glared down at him. "I am no good at waiting."

"I hadn't noticed," replied Anthiel wryly.

"She was worried, we could both see it. We should have gone with her," Freygar resumed his pacing with a toss of his head, much like a fractious horse. Anthiel kept that particular observation to himself, however.

"She made her wishes clear to us. We had to respect them. She is a big girl, she can take care of herself. Besides which, she was going to talk to her guildmaster, not to confront a dragon!" Anthiel irritably shifted on his perch. "She will come."

"You are as worried as I," Freygar eyed him shrewdly. "Could it be that the chaste priest has finally discovered earthly desires?" A large and quite improper grin grew on the barbarian's face. Anthiel fought gamely to stop the flood of crimson that invaded his pale cheeks.

"I simply.." he began, trying to rescue his dignity, but Freygar interrupted with a roar of laughter.

"It is, it is!" He nearly knocked the sorely embarrassed Elf off his seat with the mighty clap on the back he bestowed.

"It is what?"

Both turned to see the object of their conversation standing at the corner of the building, a small, bemused smile on her face. She searched their faces, obviously wanting to be let in on the joke.

"Err, nothing," Anthiel hastily replied, darting a dark glance at Freygar. Freygar, for his part, smothered a smile and coughed in a reprehensible way into his fist. "A small jest, of no import, Aklar. What is important is you. Where have you been? What happened with your guildmaster?"

A shadow passed over her face, and her glance for an instant went distant and sad.

"My visit was… unproductive. Suffice to say, there will be no official support or even interest from Surefall." She seemed on the verge of saying more, and then pressed her lips together. Her eyes silently begged them to ask no more questions.

"That is bad." Freygar shook his head. "We have been talking to other travelers. There has not been any Gnoll activity in the hills or Karana for over a month."

"Has Antonius Bayle done anything about this?" she asked. Neither of her companions asked the obvious question. Only two days ago, she had dismissed the man as ineffectual. Now, she looked to him for solutions.

"We went and spoke to the Qeynos Council," said Anthiel. "Freygar was granted a personal interview with Bayle himself."

"With what result?" asked Aklar. Anthiel shook his head.

"He claims to have too many concerns at home to be worrying about 'unsubstantiated rumors'" growled Freygar. "The man is a coward!"

"He had reason," protested Anthiel. "The Guard is spread thin as it is, and there are murmurs of unrest in the city."

"The Guard is corrupt and likely as not to change sides. Tunare knows why I expected any different from the man." Aklar sighed, and sat down on the steps. She looked up at her friends and they saw in her a resolute, burning will that left them awed. "It is up to us."

"Aklar…" Anthiel glanced at Freygar. "We are with you, of course, but we are only three. How can we affect anything? What can we possibly do? Do you expect to raise an army?"

"No. I expect us to find proof." Her gaze challenged them. "I'm going back to BlackBurrow. I am going to find proof that cannot be ignored, and put it before Bayle."

"Proof? Such as?"

"I don't know. I only know that I cannot sit by and do nothing!" She scrubbed her hands through her long dark hair. "I cannot sit by."

"Then I suggest you get up," A light was growing in Freygar's eyes, a light that Aklar remembered well. The wolf in her spirit knew the smile that slowly spread Anthiel's mouth. Her heart, bruised as it was by her expulsion from her home, wakened to that call, and she knew that she was not alone, not cast out of all that she loved and leaned upon. She had her friends. There was hope. And there was the call of battle, that leap of blood in her veins that was as natural and inevitable as fall of the rain, the turn of the seasons.

"We are one in this," she said, rising to her feet. "Together." She reached out a slim brown hand, palm up.

"We are one," Anthiel laid his elegant pale fingers on hers.

"We are one," agreed Freygar, and clasped both in his strong square

hand.

The hills in the area surrounding BlackBurrow were silent and still, and the valley before the entrance as deserted. All the watchers withdrawn from their posts, no wandering scouts. Even the Gnolls that held guard by the mouth of the caves were gone. Yet Aklar could feel unseen eyes on them, like fingers hovering at the nape of her neck. She motioned her companions down, and crawled forward to survey the valley below. Nothing stirred, but the feeling of being watched intensified.

"Nothing," murmured Freygar beside her. She stifled a jump. For such a large man he was remarkably silent. He grinned at her and she knew her start had not gone unnoticed.

"They are watching, somehow. I can feel it," she answered, keeping her voice at a level with his. He grimaced and nodded.

"So what do we do?"

"Go in anyway." Aklar turned from the hilltop to gather in Anthiel and found him crouched behind her. She stared for a second and then laughed silently.

"Remind me never to underestimate you two," she said wryly, and led them cautiously down the hill.

The tunnel was the same as ever, walls red as blood, the loose dirt sifting down on their heads with every step. Low snuffles came from the darkness ahead of them, and Aklar stretched out a hand in caution. A lone Gnoll stood at the corner. They could occasionally see its shoulder and arm around the bend as it shifted from paw to paw. Aklar stepped cautiously forward, using all her woodcraft to avoid noise.

Gnolls had extremely acute senses, of which their sight, honed from living in their subterranean caverns, was but the weakest. People, most often older Rangers seeking to curb the enthusiasms of their young trainees, claimed that a Gnoll could see you at 300 paces in the dark, smell you at 400 and hear you if you were within a league. Exaggerations, of course, and yet Aklar bore vivid memories of the doomed expedition of her youth. She also bore a puckered scar down her left thigh, where a Gnoll Guardsman had caught her as she'd tried to sneak past him into the main burrows. A cleric had barely gotten to her in time to prevent her form bleeding to death. He had been clumsy in his haste, and the badly handled magic had left her with a white weal two hands long. A reminder of the price of stupidity, Te'Anara had said.

To Aklar, the scar had been goad, a reason to train her body and mind, so that next time, she would be prepared. Now that time was here, and the scar seemed and ice cold wire drawn through her skin. Anthiel Glided up beside her, staff gripped firmly in steady hands. Freygar was at her back, solid and huge. Aklar went forward, raising her warhammer in the air. One bark, one outcry, and the Burrows could be roused before they had time to escape. The Gnoll lifted his head, ears pricking, nostrils flared. The hammer fell.

They hid the body in the tunnel, and advanced to the entrance. Aklar and Anthiel crouched beside the opening while Anthiel stepped cautiously forward. The surface was bright in the noonday sun, the grass green as emeralds. There was nothing to be seen, no Gnolls guarding the passages below, no lookout on the high jut of rock from which the entire area could be seen. The three companions emerged into the sun, squinting suspiciously around.

"Just like last time," commented Freygar. Anthiel nodded, and glanced at the low wooded door that led below.

"Not precisely like last time, one would hope," he said with a quirk of a grin. Freygar barked a quiet laugh.

"Come." Aklar squared her shoulders and approached the door. Anthiel followed close on her heels and Freygar came last with guarded glances around as the entered the gloom of the Burrow. The three disappeared below, the door swung shut. A breeze rippled the emerald grass.

A Gnoll stepped out from a crevice in the wall, tongue lolling, eyes bright with cunning and hate. He sniffed the air, nodded to himself, and thumped the ground twice with the end of his staff. The muffled sound vibrated down, carried on the twisting tunnels of the Burrow, disappearing into the earth. Then he followed Aklar's small band, easing silently through the door and down into the dark.

The tunnels beneath were as deserted as the ground above. Aklar, Anthiel and Greygar descended slowly into the fetid depths of the Burrow, their dim lights flickering on the rounded walls. Nauseating smells rose up at them as they made their cautious way deeper. The uneven planks were choked with dirt and the occasional bone. The place was as silent as the grave.

The tunnel finally opened into a wide room, far below the surface. The dirt and planks gave way to rock, and there was sound at last. The distant lapping of water made the cavern a whispering, murmuring echo chamber. Every boot scrape against the floor rippled away into the endless dark, and came back transformed into a susurration of sound. The three companions stood close by one another, taking comfort in the contact.

"Where now, my friend," asked Freygar, and immediately wished he hadn't. END…End…end…came back at them from the gloom, and Anthiel shivered. She shook her head, and then stepped away from the other two. They followed, wary eyes opened as wide as possible.

"Can you see?" she asked Anthiel quietly. Eee…eee…the dark sighed back.

"No, there is something…" The Elf shook his head in confusion. "It is like spider webs, gray mist over everything. I can see no further than the lights allow."

"I'll wager the Gnolls can see in this…muck," snarled Freygar.

"We must keep moving. The water seems to be that way," she nodded off to the right. Aklar felt her way forward.

The water grew louder and louder, until they were standing at the edge of a great clear lake, dimly lit from within. The rocky bottom itself seemed to have an eldritch glow, and strange fish flickered to and fro. Across, the other side was just visible. A doorway, cut into the living rock, was outlined by the firelight beyond.

"There," said Aklar. "It must be the way into the Deeper Burrow." She spoke quietly. The echoes were only a distant muttering on the outside edge of hearing.

"There is no easy way across," said Freygar uneasily, looking up and down the shoreline. "Maybe if we went further left…"

"We can swim," said Anthiel, pulling off his boots.

"Agreed," said Aklar, and set down her pack to imitate him.

"Swim?" Freygar sounded appalled at the very notion.

"Swim," answered Anthiel, tying his boots to his pack. "Surely you know how to swim?" Freygar looked at the water and then at Aklar, who sat on the edge of the pool, with one boot in her hand and one still on her foot. Anthiel followed his gaze. "You don't." It wasn't a question.

"The water is not deep, Freygar. I'm sure you can wade." Aklar patted his foot comfortingly and pulled off her other boot.

"Wade. Of course. Why did I not think of that?" he muttered as he reluctantly tugged off his chain mail.

Slightly damp, and in Freygar's case, a trifle wild-eyed, the three made it safely to the other shore. The doorway was over ten feet high, and as wide, the door within it rough hewn wood. Golden light spilled through cracks in long fading ribbons across the stone. Aklar crept silently to the door and put her eye to a narrow gap. Anthiel and Freygar crouched near her, keeping lookout as best they could in the encroaching dark.

The chamber was lit by several roaring torches, their unnatural flames rising in straight unwavering lines. An enormous slab of stone served as a table, a heavy wooden chair squatting at each end. The room was filled with Gnolls, standing guard in lines along the walls. In the chair facing the door, the High Shaman himself sat, glowering at the occupant of the other chair. Its back rose a good five paces from the floor, and Aklar could see nothing of who sat there.

"So it is agreed?" the voice of the unseen person was a smooth and mellifluous baritone. It sent shivers down Aklar's back. It was… cold. Evil.

The High Shaman leaned forward, muzzle writhing with suppressed snarls.

"It is agreed if you provide the Ritual of Azgoreth, as was promised! I have gathered my people, prepared the way, and still I see nothing but promises. My preparations cannot go unnoticed much longer. I need assurances. I need something solid and real." The Commander standing behind him shifted, eyes fixed coldly on the unseen speaker.

"As agreed, then." An arm came into Aklar's view, clad in deep purple. The slim gloved hand tossed a heavy leather-bound tome carelessly on the table. The Shaman leaned forward eagerly to pull in toward him. He opened it, scanning the pages quickly. A smile crossed his face.

"Agreed… my worthy ally. What of the Avatar?"

"She will appear. She will be unable to stay away, once the Ritual is begun and Mammoth's blood stains the altar." Aklar felt as if she'd been kicked in the stomach. Her breath left her in a rush, and she wavered on the edge of a thoughtless rage, wanting to rip the door open and rid the world of the evil within. She loosened her aching, white-knuckled grip on her warhammer with an effort.

"Then we are both satisfied." The Shaman closed the book and laid it on the table before him, caressing it with hooked claws.

"Good." The Gnolls seemed unaware of the barely veiled contempt in his voice, but Aklar shivered again. He rose, and she barely suppressed a gasp. The unseen speaker was a Dark Elf. Pale silver hair spilled down his back and as he turned, she could see that it framed a dusky face so beautiful that it was an effort to see the cruel twist to his sensual lips, the frozen cold of his blue eyes. He came toward the door, but before Aklar could think to pull away, he paused and faced the Shaman once again.

"My father will expect to see the agreed upon forces arrive within two months time," he told the Shaman.

"Two months!" the Shaman sputtered. "That is barely enough time to secure Surefall, much less finish the assault on Qeynos. It cannot be done!"

"Cannot?" The Elf seemed to be tasting the word. "Cannot."

Despite the massed Gnolls, despite the looming presence of the Commander behind him, the Shaman shrank back in his seat as the Elf leaned forward, spreading his hands delicately on the table. "Once the Ritual has been performed, you will have no need for assaults on anything. Simply sit back and watch. If that's not too much risk for you." The contempt in was clear in his voice this time, crystalline and cutting.

The Commander stepped forward, snarling openly, and the Shaman barked an order at him in the gutteral Gnoll tongue.

"It will be as you say. My Lord."

"Much better." The Elf straightened slowly. The Gnolls shifted and muttered, but the Shaman dropped his gaze and clutched at the book.

The Elf turned to leave and Aklar jerked back with a gasp.

"Time to go," she whispered urgently. Her companions were on their feet in an instant, and they fled along the shore of the lake, concealing their lights and searching for cover. They reached a small overhang of rock just as the door creaked loudly open behind them. Aklar leaned cautiously out. The Dark Elf stepped out, his shadow bisecting the wash of light that spilled across the rock. He paused, and his head turned slowly toward their hiding place. His eyes seemed to fix directly on hers. Aklar pulled back, pressing herself against the stone, heart thumping. Anthiel laid a hand on her shoulder. Freygar looked at her with wide eyes, and pulled his sword partly free of the scabbard.

"High Shaman," the beautiful voice was distinctly amused. "I think you may have uninvited guests."

"Damn," growled Freygar, and wrenched his sword free. The ring of steel filled the air with a thousand shivering echoes. Anthiel's grip became painfully tight.

"They are plotting to murder Mammoth, despoil Surefall and invade Qeynos. They were talking of the Ritual of Azgareth, and the Avatar," Aklat told them urgently, stumbling over the unfamiliar words. A howl rose in the room, punctuated by the rising voice of the commander ordering his troops. Gnolls poured out of the door in a grey tide. "One of us must live to get the message through! Run and do not stop for any reason!" Aklar leapt out of hiding and dived into the lake. Anthiel followed with quick grace, and Freygar paused only to bellow defiance at the charging Gnolls before following.

They floundered through the water, stumbling on the uneven footing, Freygar heavy and clumsy in his chainmail. The other side grew steadily closer, but faster still they could hear the Gnolls gaining on them. In the darkness to either side the sounds of pursuit were already parallel.

"They are herding us!" gasped Anthiel.

"I know," Aklar said grimly. Freygar spared no breath for speech.

They scrambled out onto dry rock and Anthiel darted in front of Aklar. "Follow," he said tersely, and they ran after him. Gnolls were on both sides, somewhere in the dark, and Aklar's darting eyes painted their swift shapes in every shifting shadow. Anthiel, elven sight now apparently finding a way where before he'd been blind, led them unerringly across the vast chamber.

Freygar cried out behind Aklar, and she spun, freeing her warhammer. Two Gnolls had come up behind them unseen and Freygar was fighting them desperately. One circled him, cutting him off from escape. Anthiel disappeared into the darkness ahead, unaware of Freygar's plight. Aklar ran back, engaged one of the Gnolls, and prayed that they could find one another again in the endless night. With his attention no longer split between two adversaries, Freygar easily took down one Gnoll, and then fell on Aklar's opponent. He was soon dead, and Aklar slung her hammer and prepared to cast healing magic on her stalwart friend.

Freygar grabbed her arm and flung her on ahead of him. She broke into a run again, her cheeks burning with shame. She had jeopardized their chances. No going back she'd said, for whatever reason, and then proved herself to be without the discipline to follow her own orders. Slight wounds from the Gnoll's teeth and claws burned with her sweat. Howls rose from every direction now. Freygar's wounds had to be worse than her own, but they could not, dared not stop to treat them. She prayed fervently that they were travelling in the right direction.

Then, ahead of them, a pale shape took form in the dark. Anthiel was facing them, face anxious. As he saw them, he stepped toward them, and then spun and ran on, leading once again. Aklar glanced over her shoulder, and adrenaline lent wings to her feet. 30 or more Gnolls were directly behind them, running in frightening silence.

They hit the far wall and ran left, following Anthiel's lead. Suddenly he seemed to vanish, and Aklar's heart contracted, before she realised that he had found the entrance. She fled up the narrow tunnel, her breath sobbing in her ears, Freygar's wide back in front of her. She could feel the hot breath of the lead Gnoll on her neck.

Claws caught in her leather leggings and she fell, breath jolting out of her lungs, weapon spinning away against the wall. She struggled to breathe, to stand, to cast a spell. Rough paws hauled her to her feet, thrust her face first against the wall. The rank smell of Gnoll filled her nostrils. A dirty gag was shoved at her mouth, and she twisted her head to avoid it, forced air into her lungs.

"Run! They are behind you!" she screamed up the tunnel. The gag was thrust in her mouth, muffling her cry. Her arm was twisted behind her, raising her to her toes in pain. Three Gnolls dragged her back down the tunnel, and the rest went up after her friends. Tears of frustration and pain welled in her eyes.

The Dark Elf waited at the bottom of the tunnel with the High Shaman beside him. She was forced to her knees before them, and held there by her captors. The Elf looked down at her, a small smile plying about his mouth.

"Interesting…" he murmured, pursing his lips. "And who might you be?" He stripped one glove off, and lifted her chin with a slender finger. His touch was as cold as death. Aklar tried to still the trembling of her limbs. The Shaman snarled, flexing his claws. She wrenched her eyes away from the Elf's. He laughed musically and turned away. "Keep her alive for now. I will want to question her later. Perhaps after that I will let you…play." The Commander snapped an order, and her world went black as something crashed heavily down on her head.

Anthiel ran, his lungs laboring, his heart pounding, his muscles aching with fatigue and fear. He could hear Freygar's heavy footfalls behind him, and the snarls of the Gnolls. The tunnel curved ever upward, and then, ahead, he could see the door, white daylight seeping under the lintel.

"Freygar, Aklar, just a little further," he gasped. That was when he heard her despairing scream.

"Run! They are behind you!"

"NO!" Anthiel spun around, shoved past Freygar, and saw Aklar dragged backward, gagged and bound. More Gnolls pushed past her, and she disappeared into the tight packed grey mass. "NO!" he howled, fighting Freygar as the barbarian grappled with him.

"No, Anthiel. We must go on!"

"No, we can save her! We... they don't kill you! They like to play! Aklar!"

Freygar shoved him against the door.

"We have to go!"

They fell through the door together, started for the entrance in a shambling run. Anthiel was numb with shock. When Freygar jerked him to a stop, he didn't at first understand the reason why. He looked up to see a wide circle of Gnolls around them, grinning, waiting. They were everywhere, more and more emerging from the trees, from every crevice and fold. Dozens, each armed and every one with their eyes fixed on the two adventurers. The ones that had followed them up from the Burrow came out of the door slowly, almost casually. They knew there was no reason to hurry.

"Ambush. Playing with us," said Anthiel bitterly.

"When I say run, make for the entrance," said Freygar, his voice low and urgent.

"Frey..."

"Just do it!" Their eyes met and Anthiel nodded reluctantly.

"One must get through and it has to be you, old friend. I will hold them." Freygar's face was set.

"May your God welcome you home, Freygar," Anthiel whispered. Tears stung his eyes. The Gnolls drew the circle tighter.

"May yours shelter you," Freygar gripped his shoulder. "Now, run!" and he threw himself at one of the smaller Gnolls, and cut him down with one mighty blow, opening a small gap in the circle. Anthiel sprang through it, sliding around a blow from the side. The ring collapsed over Freygar and he barely kept his feet under the press. Only two Gnolls broke off and came after Anthiel. He ran, fleet and graceful as was his entire race, and they should never have caught him.

On top of the jutting finger of rock, a Gnoll watcher drew fletching to ear and released in one motion. The blunt stone point took the Elf in the temple, and felled him just in front of the entrance. He collapsed, and the Gnolls in pursuit had him bound and slung over a grey shoulder in a flash. They went sideways, into a low cave opening, and the Elf was gone.

Freygar saw them go, and a wave of black despair swept over him. It had all been in vain, and now there was no one to warn of the danger, no one to make Aklar and Anthiel's sacrifices mean anything.

"NO!" he roared. He bled in a dozen places, his left arm was nearly useless, the Gnoll on the lookout was raising his bow again, and the sun glinted off a steel broadhead point. And Freygar rose up from under the pile of Gnolls. They went flying as the berserk rage took him and red flooded his vision.

He spun, two handed sword shearing through air and Gnoll bodies with equal ease. The Gnoll watcher let fly and he ducked the arrow fluidly, watched it take a guardsman in the neck. He snatched a knife out of his belt, flicked it through the air, and turned to cut down another guardsman even as the watcher tumbled from his perch. They had to die, all of them, pay for Anthiel, pay for Aklar. Blood ran down his blade onto his hands, making his grip slippery.

One of us must live to get the message through.

He turned and broke for the entrance, tossing off Gnolls left and right as they came at him. He heard the Gnoll commander's gravelly tones. He snarled his frustration, and kept going. Blood... he wanted blood payment for his loss, but Aklar's words resounded still.

Blue light blossomed around him, and for one confused second he thought that Anthiel or Aklar had gotten free. Instead of the soothing cool of a healing spell, however, the light sank into his flesh like lead, making him heavy and slow, making his joints ache. He fought grimly on, won through to the entrance, and then the air itself ignited around him. He bellowed in pain as the fire clung to him, fell to one knee under the blows of the Gnolls that still followed him. He struggled up, not even fighting anymore, and staggered through the jagged gap. The Gnoll fell back superstitiously, despite the commander's shouts and the shrill exhortations of the High Shaman.

Freygar dragged himself along the wall of the entrance tunnel, eyes fixed on the dim promise of daylight ahead. He emerged between the massive fangs of the stone Gnoll head into a quiet twilight. Not ten paces away, three Rangers turned in surprise as he crumpled to the ground. They rushed to him. Hands lifted his head, raised him as gently as possible, and carried him away from BlackBurrow.

"Aklar," he whispered painfully, trying to tell them, to make them understand.

"Lie still, my friend," said a Half-Elven Ranger, her brow creased with worry.

"The Gnolls... tell Bayle," he forced the words out through the red haze of agony. "Tell him... the Ritual of..." Black bled into the red, and Freygar knew no more.

Aklar opened her eyes to pitch-blackness. Her head ached, her entire body hurt, and she was cold. She lay on damp stone, cheek pressed to the ground. She stirred, and groaned as every pain, large and small, suddenly flared to twice the intensity. She pushed herself up into a sitting position and clutched at her head. Memory crashed home, and she made a small sound of despair. Maybe the others had gotten away. It was her only hope.

A few paces away, someone stirred. Aklar froze, breath catching in her throat. The noise repeated itself, a rustling as of someone turning over in sleep. Then the unknown person moaned. Aklar drew in breath again. She knew that voice.

"Anthiel?" she asked, tears rising before she could quell them. So they had caught him as well. She feared to ask about Freygar.

"Aklar?" he said, his voice muzzy and confused. She crawled over to him and fumbled for his hand. He gripped her fingers weakly. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" She wiped her cheeks angrily.

"For failing you. We failed you." He gave a shuddering sigh. "I think Freygar is dead."

Aklar closed her eyes, the ache in her heart overwhelming that of her body.

"Are you sure?" There could not be enough tears and so she would not cry. She would not.

"I didn't see him die... but there were so many, I don't think he could have made it through alive. He was keeping them busy so I could get away. And I couldn't even make his sacrifice worthwhile," Anthiel said bitterly. He sat up with a jerk and then sucked in a breath.

"What is it?" Aklar ran quick professional hands over him, searching for the wound.

"It's nothing, please," he pushed ineffectually at her hands, trying to stop her. She found the huge knot on his temple and gasped. Gently fingers explored it.

"This is not good. It was very nearly enough to crack your skull," she said, shaking her head. "Hold still."

She cleared her mind, slowed her breathing, and called to Tunare silently. She made the familiar gestures of healing. No blue light outlined her fingers, no wash of cool comfort came. Instead, fat blue sparks crawled over her hands as though imprisoned, and then died.

"Cursed," said the Elf bleakly. "Likely sanctified to Innoruuk or whatever deity the Gnoll shamans get their power from. Our gods have no power here. If one of us were a wizard..." he trailed off, leaning back against the stone wall. Aklar felt for his hand again. "I don't understand why they didn't kill us. We should be dead or wishing we were right now."

"The Dark Elf said he wanted to question me." Aklar faltered. "I guess he wanted to talk to you too."

She felt Anthiel shudder slightly

"We may yet wish we were in the care of the Gnolls. The Children of Innoruuk are most talented in the art of the Question." Aklar began to tremble uncontrollably. "I'm sorry," said Anthiel immediately. "That was a stupid thing to say. Maybe..." he stopped, unable to think of any way to comfort her.

"Just... hold me," Aklar said. He was silent a moment and then hesitantly drew her into his arms.

"Aklar," he whispered, and then paused.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, and brushed her hair away from her face. Her breathing slowed, and she drifted into an uneasy slumber.

The few hours that he spent in the dark, holding her in his arms, was a form of exquisite torture for Anthiel. He could smell her hair, feel the skin of her cheek pressed against his arm. She sighed in her sleep, and once, a small sound like a sob escaped her lips. He smoothed her hair back from her brow and she relaxed, snuggling against him. He shivered, not from the cold but from longing. He wanted to wake her, press his lips to hers. In the middle of despair, Anthiel discovered love, and it was a bittersweet distraction from the bleakness of the stone prison they huddled in. At last he dozed, head bowed to his chest, one hand still tenderly lay on her head.

"How charming." Anthiel's eyes snapped open, and then tried to close themselves again as light, blindingly bright after their time in the dark, invaded the cell. Aklar stirred and sat up, shielding her eyes. The Dark Elf stood in the doorway, outlined in light, face hidden by the contrast of shadow. How very heartwarming. But I fear I must borrow her for a while, my High cousin." He snapped his fingers and two burly Gnolls came in and pulled Aklar away from Anthiel. She struggled silently, teeth bared.

"No!" Anthiel sprang to his feet and beat at the Gnolls with his fists. One half turned and struck him across the face, sending him staggering. The Dark Elf made a small gesture, and paralysis gripped Anthiel. He strove to move, to speak, but it was as much as he could do to breathe. Aklar was dragged out the door. One final, terrified look back at him and she was gone. The hateful Elf walked up to him. Though shorter, he somehow managed to loom, to stare Anthiel in the eye.

"Don't worry." The sensual lips skinned back from his teeth, turning his beauty into something twisted and hideous. "We, too, will have our time together. I look forward to it." He reached out and not quite touched Anthiel's face. Antheil strained back, panting in rage and disgust. The Elf laughed low in his throat, and turned away.

The invisible bonds released Anthiel as the door slammed shut. He collapsed to his knees, his muscles twitching and jerking from the touch of the dark magic.

"Innoruk's get!" he spat after him. Empty words. Aklar, in that thing's hands. He beat his hands bloody against the door, screamed his voice hoarse, and got nothing but the chuffing laughter of the Gnoll guardsmen. At last, exhausted and drained, he slid down the wall to the floor.

To Aklar, the trip into the bowels of the Burrow was a nightmare of confusion and terror. They went deeper and deeper, ever downward through long twisting tunnels. Everywhere were Gnolls, who laughed and snapped at her with sharp white teeth as she was hustled past. Each time she would flinch, and her guards would share a grin with each other and force her on, faster than before. By the time they reached their destination, she was almost running. She was jerked to a halt before a wide, low door guarded by two huge Gnolls, both armed with pikes.

"The Lord D'anok wishes to question this woman."

They regarded her silently for a long moment, and then one smiled. He nodded at the door and the other opened it. Aklar was thrust violently into the room beyond. She went sprawling as the door slammed shut behind her.

Slowly she got to her feet. The room was bare, devoid of any furnishings. The only thing in it was a globe of white light that hung above the center, casting a pale, unforgiving glow. The only exit was the door she had come in. The walls were rough and unfinished, the floor uneven stone. The air was cold and damp, and Aklar shivered in her torn leathers. She straightened, stiffening her spine. She was a Druid. Tunare was with her, and would shelter her in her hands. She had only to hold to faith, and faith would see her through. She wished she could stop shivering.

Suddenly the silver spheres of a Gate quivered in the air by the door, and the Dark Elf - Lord D'anok- appeared. Aklar's resolve vanished like a puff of smoke. Her back hit the wall before she was aware that she had moved. He smiled and his hands moved languidly, trailing dark blue sparks.

Invisible manacles clamped about her wrists and dragged her forward and up until she hung in the air at the center of the room. He gestured again, a flick of slim elegant fingers, and her leathers burst apart, falling in a rain of instant decay. Clad only in her white linen singlet, she shuddered. She could feel the darkness of his magic. It dimmed her sight, roiled her stomach, and made her skin crawl as if armies of insects marched up and down her body. She could feel Tunare withdraw, hurt by the presence of the Elf's evil God.

He stepped toward her, smile slowly widening, lips parting as if to taste the tang of her fear.

"Shall we begin?"

After an eternity of fevered dreams, Freygar woke to the absence of pain. He opened his eyes and was greeted by a softly smiling female face. Waves of brown hair framed a face that would make any man stare, and green eyes searched his, gentle concern not quite hiding a glint of mischief. The vision turned away, and called out.

"He's awake, Dylay. Sned a messenger to his Lordship." Freygar struggled to sit up.

He was in a white marble room, ensconced in a wide bed, and quite naked. He snatched the blanket up to his waist as the girl turned back to him with a smile.

"We were not sure until you woke that you ever would wake again," she said. "Your wounds were almost beyond even our abilities."

"You are a Cleric?" Freygar asked.

"Yes. You are in the Temple of Life. I am Gera. Some Rangers brought you in last night. They were very nearly too late."

"Last night! My message!" Freygar nearly threw back the covers to rise, then recalled the company he was in. "Has someone delivered my message to Antonius Bayle?" he asked urgently.

"Have no fear," she reassured him. "He is most anxious to meet with you."

As if on cue, the door opened briskly to admit two Qeynos guards, who took positions on either side of the doorway. After them strode an imposing figure in full plate.

Antonius Bayle was in his middle years, a tall man still hard and fit. Twin wings of grey swept back from his temples, but his gaze was direct and sure. He and Freygar had not parted under the best of terms the last time they had met, but the leader of Qeynos was known far and wide for being a fair-minded man. He stared at Freygar now with a decidedly mixed expression.

"Your pardon, m'Lord," murmured Gera, rising and slipping swiftly through the door.

"Please, don't get up," said Bayle, mouth quirking in a smile. "I hear you have some substantiated rumors for me this time." He took the chair vacated by Gera and pulled it up to the bed. His mail scraped the wood as he sat. People said he even wore it to bed. A military man his whole life, Bayle was uncomfortable with the trappings of his office, and disdained the lavish balls and fashions his wastrel predecessor had favored. In other circumstances, Freygar was sure he would have liked the man. As it was...

"My friends are now at the tender mercies of the Gnolls of BlackBurrow, m'Lord," he said, containing his anger. "They may well have died so that this warning could be brought. You will forgive me if I am not in a jesting mood."

Bayle's brows lowered, and the guards by the door shifted and glared, but Freygar refused to drop his gaze from the other man's.

"We witnessed a secret meeting between the High Shaman and a Teir'dal Lord. Aklar, my companion, heard them speak of plans for the takeover of Surefall, and then the conquest of Qeynos itself."

"The Gnolls assault us continually. We repel them each time. They are always plotting, good Master Freygar. What makes this any different? As for the Dark Elf, I am sure that he was simply a renegade, sheltering with them for a few days." Freygar opened his mouth to protest. Bayle lifted a hand and rode right over him. "I know that you have lost friends, and I am truly sorry, but I cannot authorize an attack on BlackBurrow to rescue a couple of adventurers who got in over their heads." He rose to his feet. "My best wishes for a speedy recovery. The city will cover any costs you incur as a result of your injuries. We appreciate your attempt to serve the citizens of Qeynos."

Bayle was almost out the door before Freygar could get a word in.

"The Ritual of Azgoreth," he said loudly, and Bayle froze in his tracks.

"What did you say?" he asked, turning slowly.

"My friend, the one you dismiss so lightly. She overheard the renegade and the High Shaman discuss it. There was mention of the Avatar, as well, and a plot to kill Mammoth."

Bayle's face grew pale. Freygar paused, unnerved by the change in the normally unflappable leader. Bayle looked at him as if seeing the fall of everything he held dear.

"I must consult with... stay here. I will be back." He spun on his heel and almost ran from the room, the guards hastening after him. Freygar gaped at the door. If Bayle was afraid... Freygar threw off the covers and began to search for his clothes.

"Very nice." Freygar straightened abruptly from the chest he'd been rummaging through, and spun in alarm. Gera stood in the door, a small amused smile on her face. "The door was open."

"What?" he said, and then followed her gaze downward. He snatched a pillow from the bed and held it in front of him. "Do you know where my clothes are?" he said, fighting the flush that crept up his face. Her hand covered a laugh, and she nodded.

"Try in the wardrobe," she nodded toward the tall walnut case in the corner.

"My thanks, lady." He gave her a bow, and his most charming smile. Her smile grew and she bit her lip in an attempt to keep it under control.

"You are most welcome." They spent a minute looking at one another before he realized that she wasn't going to leave.

"Much as I would enjoy this game another time," he began.

"There's nothing I haven't seen already," she said, and her laughter bubbled through again. "Alright, alright!" She lifted her hands. "I'm leaving." She gave one last regretful look and then left, shutting the door firmly behind her. Her giggles trailed down the hall outside. Freygar shook his head. Sometimes he found women to be the most exasperating creatures on Norrath.

Fully clothed, he exited the room, shrugging on his pack as he awkwardly bucked his sword belt one handedly. Gera was waiting a short way down the hall, sitting on a white marble bench. Everything was white marble, pristine and clinical. Even Gera's robe was white, although the way it draped her slender form was anything but clinical. She rose as he approached her, the same amused smile still playing about her full lips.

Clothed, he felt himself a match for her. Freygar made a perfect leg, and as he straightened, gave her a slow perusal that rivaled the examination he'd received from her. He was rewarded with a slight flush.

"Would a beautiful lady be so kind as to direct me to the front doors?" he asked.

"I would willingly lead you anywhere..." she began, looking up at him through long dark lashes. "...were it not for Lord Bayle's express orders that you were not to leave the Temple."

"Lady, please." He didn't know what he could do to help Anthiel and Aklar, but he was sure that sitting here while Bayle consulted was not going to do them any good. "It is vital that I leave. Lord Bayle is not my liege. He has no right to hold me."

"True," she conceded. "However, I am his subject, and as free-willed as Qeynos citizens can be, I will not go against his wishes. Leave the Temple if you can," and the annoying smile built again, " but no one here will aid you."

With a loud grump Freygar set off down the hall past her, her delighted laughter ringing in his ears. He soon found that she'd spoken nothing but the truth. Every white-robed person greeted him amiably, asked after his health, and each refused to assist his departure in any way. Twice... twice! he passed Gera, and both times her laughter chased after him as he stalked by. The woman was going to drive him mad.

At last, finding himself by a fountain that he had seen three times before, he admitted defeat. He sat on the stone ledge that surrounded the clear blue water, and resigned himself to waiting for Bayle's return. He was going to have a few choice words to say about the rights of non-citizens to the man. The white-clad Clerics nodded pleasantly at him as they passed, unfazed by his glower. Freygar ground his teeth.

At last a young man came hurrying up to him, bowed, and delivered the message that Lord Bayle requested his presence. Freygar stared at him with lowered brows until the boy swallowed heavily and began to stammer. His pride partially assuaged, Freygar followed him.

The boy found the front doors within a few seconds. Feygar compressed his lips 'til nothing showed but a bloodless white slit. One glance backward, and his guide sped up until they were nearly running through the streets. They stopped at the gates to Bayle's manor, and the boy took off without a word. Freygar raised a fist to pound on the gate, and it swung open. The aide inside gave a startled look to his hand, and blinked.

"Master Freygar? If you will follow me?"

The aide admitted him to an inner room, where Bayle sat at the head of a long table. Every seat was occupied but one, and each by a Guildmaster, their Second, or a Captain of the Qeynos guard. At Bayle's right hand sat the First Wizard, Gahlith Wrannstad, and on his left...

Te'Anara's eyes were red, and her face weary, but her gaze was direct and strong. Freygar stared at her for a long minute, remembering Aklar's bitter words about her meeting with this woman.

"If you would be seated, Master Freygar." Bayle's words broke through his revere, and he found his way to the empty seat, sliding in between Lu'Sun, head Monk, and Belious Naliedin of the Bard Guild.

"My friends," began Bayle, leaning forward and folding his hands on the table. "This worthy adventurer has brought some very unwelcome news. I have brought you together that we may all hear it first hand and discuss what is to be done. Freygar." He nodded at him to continue.

"I have told all that I know, which is not much," he began, a bit tongue-tied at the august company he sound himself in. "We were not satisfied with reassurances that the change in Gnoll activity meant nothing, so we went to see for ourselves."

"We being who, precisely?" broke in Gahlith.

"Myself, my old friend Anthiel, and Aklar, a Druid of Surefall." Freygar avoided Te'Anara's eyes. "We penetrated the Burrow, and discovered the High Shaman meeting with a Dark Elf Lord. I don't know his name. Aklar was the one who actually saw them together. She was not able to tell me all she had heard. All I know is that their plans include despoiling Surefall and a takeover of Qeynos, as well."

The room broke into startled discussion. Bayle thumped a mailed fist on the table, and all talk ceased.

"Go on," he said grimly.

"The only real piece of information I have is a name. They were discussing something called the Ritual of Azgoreth."

The Wizard's face went white and still. He bowed his head as though in some private pain or weakness, while Bayle looked at him with a strange mixture of contempt and concern.

"What is this Ritual?" asked Belious, his clever eyes fixing on the Wizard's bent head. Gahlith drew a deep breath before raising his eyes and meeting his gaze.

"Surefall is a holy place, a sanctuary of Tunare. Each living being that calls it home carries a part of her spirit within them, but especially blessed are the Great Tree, that being the Druid's Guildhouse," he nodded at Te'Anara, who seemed lost in thought, hardly listening at all. "...and Mammoth." Te'Anara lifted her head at that, eyes abruptly very much present and completely furious. Gahlith raised a hand as she took in a deep breath. "I am sorry, Te'Anara. I realize that I overstep myself. I do not think that it serves our purpose, however, to keep your allies in the dark about something which our enemies already know."

"Who is this Mammoth?" Mespha Tevalian, head Enchanter, leaned forward. "A Druid?"

Gahlith only looked at Te'Anara. Her glare slowly faded into resignation and weariness.

"Mammoth is... a living part of Tunare, gift from the Goddess. Her presence in Surefall is a direct link with Tunare, much like the Great Tree. The Great Tree is invulnerable to any attack by weapon or magic, but Mammoth is very mortal. If she is hurt Tunare herself is wounded. The Great Mother entrusted the Druids and Rangers to safeguard Mammoth, and in return, Surefall is a sanctuary. If Mammoth were to die... Tunare would withdraw from Surefall. The Great Tree would die. We would all be cast out, homeless, for the Glade would become withered and barren without the Tree to sustain it." Her voice was a whisper by the end, and when she fell silent the room was as still as death.

"The Ritual of Azgoreth." The Bard finally broke the quiet.

"It is a ritual of Innoruuk," said Gahlith reluctantly. A chill seemed to pass over the room, as if the Dark God, so named, cast his eye briefly on them. "It is designed specifically to take advantage of a situation such as Surefall. When a God or Goddess incarnates a part of him or herself in a mortal being, they become vulnerable. The Ritual opens the way for a direct assault on Tunare. When completed, Innoruuk can follow the link to Tunare through the blood of her mortal incarnation. Tunare will be forced to flee to the body of an Avatar, a follower so close to the Goddess that they can accept the sublimation of their personality and mind by hers. If the Avatar is then killed... Tunare will die."

"You're saying that a God can die?" demanded Freygar.

"Yes." Gahlith's eyes were haunted.

"So why hasn't it happened before? Where has this Ritual been? And why are the Teir'dal willing to give such power into the hands of the Gnolls, not a particularly loyal or intelligent race?" The Paladin remained outwardly calm, but his hands were curled into fists before him.

"I don't know why they chose the Gnolls. Perhaps simply because trusting them was the only way to take Surefall by force. An army of Innoruuk's Children would never make it this far without causing wars in every country between here and Neriak. As for the Ritual..." he looked suddenly tired, and aged beyond his years. "It has been in the keeping of the Wizard's Guild for over 300 years. Until two weeks ago, when it vanished from the protected vault. Three Wizards died, and another was Charmed and driven to attack his fellows. He is hopelessly mad now, locked in a cell in our catacombs. The book's absence was not discovered until three days ago. I reported it to Antonius. We have been unsure of what to do."

"You were keeping it?" the Bard sounded incredulous.

"Why was such an evil not destroyed centuries ago? I respect your Guild's search for knowledge, First, but to study such a..." Lu'Sun trailed off, unable to find the words to express his disgust.

"To destroy it could have unleashed things beyond our comprehension. Books of such power have a... kind of sentience. They are unpredictable. No one was even allowed in the room where it was kept. It was warded as strongly as it could have possibly been. We thought it was safe!"

"Obviously it was not. And now we must face that reality, not lay blame for how it came to be." Te'Anara looked around the room. "How do we stop them?"

Bayle rose to his feet. "I am prepared to lead the full Guard to Surefall to protect it against the Gnolls' direct assault. To accomplish this Ritual, they must get to Mammoth. We will see that they never do. Your friends, Freygar." Bayle turned to him with a look of sorrow and compassion. "I am afraid they are lost to us."

"I know," Freygar drew a hand across his eyes. "Let me go with you. I can at least help to protect what they died for." Bayle nodded and laid a hand on his shoulder briefly.

"I expect a contingent from each one of you," Bayle continued, looking around the room. "No standing aside this time. Organize your people and have them at the Gates in three hours. We march before night falls. I want to be at Surefall as soon as possible." The room emptied swiftly.

"Freygar." Feygar paused at the door as the last of the council went past him. Bayle regarded him. "I would like you to be at my side. I may have a task for you. Will you stand with me?"

The barbarian measured him slowly, and then nodded. Bayle came forward and gripped his forearm strongly, in the Northern way. "Good." Bayle smiled, and Freygar, even in his grief, was comforted by the absolute certainty that was in that smile.

A voice. A voice in the darkness, speaking her name...Aklar fled that sound, fled the two familiar syllables, drawn out and grotesque on that tongue. She fell into the dark, deeper, seeking light, seeking hope...

Blue light invaded her mind, a thousand needles pricking her skin, drawing her back to the surface. She broke through, emerged into consciousness.

"Is she awake?" Aklar opened her eyes painfully. The High Shaman was still there, the blue shimmer of healing fading about his hands. Aklar barely noticed him. Her gaze followed the other occupant of the room, locked to him like metal filings to a magnet. "It is as much as I can do now to keep her alive. Press her much further..."

"She will live. I am accounted a master at this art, even among the ranks of the Children." It was that voice she had fled, that sound that had sent her seeking the escape of death. The Dark Elf was no longer quite as elegant as he had been. His hair was disordered, his robes sweat stained, and his eyes burned like pits of lava. Dark magic crawled over his hands and arms in continual sparks and wavering lines of light. The Shaman averted his eyes. Even his lust for suffering had begun to flag, but the Teir'dal seemed insatiable. Aklar had screamed until her voice disappeared, but he had not asked her any questions. She had begged to tell him, begged to answer, and he had only smiled. She would have told him anything, everything, to make him stop. She burned with the shame of it, but he had not asked. He needed nothing from her, he had said. Nothing but her pain.

He wet his lips and she began to shudder uncontrollably. She knew the meaning of that small, involuntary movement. He was going to begin again. Her body was a mass of misery, every inch of skin burning, every nerve twitching. Her shoulders were pure agony, strained to the point of breaking from the continual weight of her body. Her singlet was torn, rent by knives and fire, but her near nudity had ceased to be of importance. Her torturer's desire was not for the possession of her flesh but for its destruction.

"Once again, Aklar?" he whispered, coming closer. He put his lips close to her ear. "I think you can do better. Don't you?"

She tried to speak, to beg or plead or hurl defiance, but her voice had ceased to work, and all that came out was a hoarse gasp. He laughed low in his throat and circled around behind her. She heard the ring of steel, and began to sob, shaking her head feebly. The tip of the dagger touched the spasming skin in the small of her back.

A diffident knock at the door halted him. He let out a long angry breath, and then sheathed the dagger.

"Come," he snapped, and Aklar tried to relax, to retreat into herself again, to find that center of calm where she would be safe.

The door opened and a Gnoll stepped through, shoulders hunched in anticipation of punishment.

"Pardon, Great Ones, but the shaman sent me to say, your presence is needed for the...encouragement of the troops," he panted, cringing and slavering.

"Very well," D'anok dismissed him with a flick of his hand. "Shall we?" he asked the High Shaman sardonically, and then turned back to Aklar. He raised her chin with the sheathed blade. "I have enjoyed our time together. Perhaps we will have time to talk again." He smiled at her almost fondly. She closed her eyes and followed the dark down, falling toward her center. When the magical bonds released her and she crumpled to the floor, she was already fathoms deep, searching...

Anthiel sprang to his feet as he heard the lock click open. The door swung open, but before he could leap toward it, or do any of the other things he had planned, the Gnolls flung a bloodied, battered form though. He reflexively reached out to catch her, and Aklar collapsed against him. The door slammed.

"Oh, Gods," he whispered. She was unconscious, dressed in the tattered remnants of a once-white singlet. He whipped off his outer robe and wrapped her in it, wincing at the burns and cuts that covered her from head to toe. Not an inch of her but bore some mark of the Dark Elf's attentions. Anthiel cursed to himself in his native tongue, trying to hold her in the way that would hurt her the least. Her skin was pale beneath the bruises and blood, her breathing shallow. He wished desperately that he could heal, but every time he'd tried to cast, to make Rodcet Nife hear his prayers, the magic had aborted. The gifts from his God were useless here.

He laid her carefully on the ground and went to the door.

"Could we have some water?" The Gnolls only laughed. "Do you want her to die?" he demanded. "I'm sure that the Teir'dal would be pleased with you then."

There was silence for a minute, and then the door opened a crack, and a small flask was shoved through. He barely caught it before the paw withdrew and the door slammed shut. He hurried back to Aklar. Raising her head gently to his knee, he tried to get her to take some water. She lay unresponsive, like one near death. The water ran down the side of her face into her hair, cutting a path through the grime and blood.

"Don't die," he whispered, rocking her slowly. "Don't leave. Come back. My love," he bent his head over her in the dank, cold cell. "Come back."

Aklar heard him, like a distant echo, but his passionate words could not hold her as she fell deeper, spiraling down to the core of who she was, what she was. The Goddess waited. Aklar could feel her there, a warm glow like the Great Tree's pulsing light, only a thousandfold stronger, waiting just beyond her reach. Somewhere in the night that surrounded her was the key. She fell down, down, down. Searching. Stretching. Reaching out with perfect faith.

And then she was there, beside that light, that hope that blossomed in the dark like a sun. She slid along an invisible wall, seeking a crack, a hole, anything. It blocked her as effectively as stone, a great expanse like glass through which she could see but not touch. If she'd had tears left she would have wept.

Not yet. A Voice like the sigh of wind through trees. Aklar ceased to struggle. Not yet. Her heart ached to know, to touch that glow, see what she was meant to be, but she turned away. She went away from her desire and began the long journey back.

Aklar stirred in Anthiel's arms. He bent over her, searching her face for signs of consciousness. When her eyelids fluttered and then slowly rose he smiled in relief. She tried to lift her head and winced.

"Lie still," he bade her, and tilted the flask to her mouth. "Here. It's not very clean, but it's water." She drank, swallowing painfully, and then rested her head against his knee.

"How long?" Her voice was a scrape, a rasping whisper.

"Were you gone?" he asked. She nodded. "I don't know. It's hard to judge time down here. Perhaps six or seven hours. Maybe as long as ten." He touched light fingertips to a bruised cheekbone. She flinched away from his hand. "I will see him dead for this," he grated.

"No. Hate is his power. It is what they want," she whispered, letting her eyes slid shut. Anthiel drew her gingerly to his chest.

"The Goddess..." Her voice was so faint that he could barely hear her.

"What?"

"Waiting...inside me. Have faith and all will follow..." She was asleep.

Antonius Bayle surveyed the encampment before Surefall with satisfaction, nodding to himself, and occasionally sending an aide with orders to one company or another. The forces from Qeynos were arranged in a wide semi-circle in front of the tunnel entrance, and stretched from the river almost to the skeletal ruins. A contingent of Clerics had cleared it of the undead as the army approached, and now camped there, sanctifying it with prayer and holy magic. The last thing he needed was to be flanked by some ambitious Necromancer, hoping to win favor with the Gnolls.

His army was laid out in good order, Qeynos guards and Warrior volunteers in lines at the front, each camp with Clerical healing backup. The spell casters stood back, a wide line of Magicians with their lumpy glowing pets arrayed in front of them, Enchanters and Wizards behind them, waiting and meditating. Bards roamed, tuning their instruments. The whole area was bathed in the light from a veritable sea of glowing spheres. The summoned light made the twilight bright as day.

Antonius floated in the air above the tunnel entrance with the First Wizard, his aides and Captains waiting below.

"No sign of them yet," murmured Gahlith, his unfocused eyes shifting minutely. He scouted the hills with magic, as the Rangers did afoot. The Druids were inside Surefall as a last line of defense, praying and communing with Tunare. Te'Anara had regarded him levelly when he'd asked her about deploying her guild members with the army, and he had dropped the subject. Everyone knew the path that the Druids had followed under her guidance, but it still rankled. It was their Goddess this army sought to protect, their home... Bayle shook his head. He'd learned the art of diplomacy, but it was still hard to deal with the stupid stubbornness of the self-righteous.

Inside Surefall, sitting cross-legged in the dead center of the Great Tree, Te'Anara strove to hear the Goddess. For days, her presence had been, at best, a dim sensation of wind. The sap of the Tree glowed but feebly. Druids milled about outside the Tree, murmuring nervously. Some had been openly rebellious about her orders to stay out of the fight. Hagar had shaken his head at her and left without a word. It had hurt, to see her old friend disappointed in her like that, but she had no choice. The will of the Goddess came before personal feelings.

She closed her eyes and once more sought the calm cool peace she needed. There was a feeling of stillness, like the calm before a storm. The Goddess was waiting. Te'Anara knew what she was waiting for. She only hoped that Aklar would come. She had done all she could. There was nothing left to do but, like the Mother, wait to see if it had been enough.

Below Bayle, grouped with his subordinates, Freygar waited as well. He ran his hand restlessly along his sword hilt, every so often pulling his gaze from the surrounding hills to glance impatiently at Bayle. He wanted to be at the front, not back here in safety with the Wizards and battle leaders. He had no head for strategy. He needed to be where his strength was of use. Bayle had asked him to wait though, so he stood, shifting and twitching, and generally asking himself why he bothered.

From here, he could see the company that Gera had been assigned to. They were up the side of a hill, camped at the top, and set to defend the high ground. He could see white figures moving among the bright uniforms of the guard, but from where he was, he could not make out faces. Not that he cared where that snippet was. Pretty or not, she was without a doubt, the most annoying woman he'd ever met. And far too short. Freygar searched the hill again, eyes straining.

"My Lord!" An aide dashed up. "A Range scout team had reported activity around BlackBurrow."

Gahlith nodded. "They are beginning to move their forces out."

"Good," snapped Bayle, and nodded to the Captains. They immediately moved away to their own vantage points, each with a Wizard in tow. Bayle was the genius behind the battle plan that had each leader high in the air. Knowledge was the key to winning wars, and communication was vital. The Wizards would be in continual magical contact with one another, and orders would be relayed in the blink of an eye. The only problem lay in persuading the First Wizard to release his guild members to Bayle's command. Gahlith and the leader of Qeynos were apparently friends, but friendship only goes so far. Freygar hadn't been present for the monumental clash between the two formidable men, but the Wizards had gone where Bayle had pointed, so some compromise had obviously been reached.

The activity in the encampment slowed and then stopped, as everyone waited, poised for battle, all eyes searching the horizon for the first sign of the enemy. A trickle of sweat ran down Freygar's back.

When the Gnolls finally came, it was as if the ground had turned gray and was advancing on the defenders. They topped the hills in the distance, saw the bright and orderly army arrayed against them, and broke into howls, turning the night hideous with their noise. The High Shaman led them, three commanders by his side. The surging mass of Gnolls swept around them and descended like a breaking wave.

"Fire!" Arrows arched up and hailed down on the Gnolls. Grey forms stumbled and fell, tumbling down the slopes of the hills. There was time for a second and third flight before the two forces crashed together with a sound like thunder.

Freygar stepped away from Surefall, drawing his sword.

"Master Freygar," Bayle's voice halted him. "I may have need of you here."

"What need?" asked Freygar impatiently. "They have need of me." He pointed to the front, where the Gnolls' charge was barely broken. More and more of them came flooding down the hills. The Shaman had disappeared, and only one commander remained on the hilltop, a huge dark figure surrounded by lesser shamans. As the armies fought with steel, a mage war was waged over their heads. Explosions of fire, ice and wind wreaked havoc among the fighters. More burst harmlessly against the shields surrounding each Captain, and the one above the Gnoll commander.

"There is a time to blindly charge, and there is a time to wait and choose your attack," Bayle said. He nodded to the Wizard, and was floated down to face Freygar. "I asked you to stand with me, and you pledged that you would. What of the honor of the North?"

Freygar wrestled with himself for a long minute, trying to avoid Bayle's penetrating eyes.

"I will wait," he reluctantly said at last. Bayle nodded as if he'd never expected anything else, and resumed his position up above. Freygar ground his teeth as the left flank bowed inward, and was barely reinforced by a group of Paladins. What was the man babbling about? Freygar itched with the need to be where the battle was.

On the high hill, Gera's camp was holding its own, barely. Blue flickers of light marked where the Clerics spread their healing arts and kept fighters in the fray. Yet the Gnolls were slowly pressing inward, sheer numbers making the crucial difference. They flung themselves on the blades of the defenders with mindless ferocity, fell, and were replaced by twice as many.

"Fall back!" Bayle's voice echoed over the field.

The Qeynos forces made an organized retreat, abandoning the hills about Surefall and consolidating in the valley that led to the tunnel entrance. The Gnolls pressed harder, as if tasting victory.

"Bayle," said Freygar, taking a step forward.

"Hold to your place," Bayle was looking into the distance, toward Qeynos. A company of guards faltered, splitting apart. The Gnolls rushed into the gap and clashed with the Magicians' pets. A Magician was cut down, and the air was filled with the high pitched sounds of dying elementals.

"Bayle!"

"Hold." The man was as cold and calm as a frozen lake.

And then light bloomed in the valley. A force of guards and Paladins came charging along the road to Qeynos and slashed into the Gnoll's flank. The defenders rallied, and the tide began to turn.

Bayle landed on the ground next to Freygar and spoke quickly, waving a Wizard over to them.

"Take Morna and go into Surefall.. Let me know what's going on in there. Te'Anara knows more than she claimed to, I am sure of it. The High Shaman went some place, and I think I know where." He was up in the air again, passing quick instructions to Gahlith. Freygar stared at him a moment, and then turned and ran into the tunnel.

Anthiel watched over Aklar worriedly. She'd been asleep for about an hour when her breathing abruptly slowed almost to a stop and her eyes began flickering rapidly beneath her lids. When he'd tried to gently awaken her, she was completely unresponsive, bonelessly limp. The skin beneath her bruises was white as snow.

The door crashed open to admit three Gnoll guardsmen and D'anok himself. Anthiel hunched over Aklar protectively.

"How gallant of you, my cousin," said the Teir'dal.

"I am not your cousin," spat Anthiel. "You are a blight on the face of Norrath. Never name me a relation of yours!"

"Temper, temper, cousin. I come bearing news. Bad news, I am afraid." He smiled down at Aklar. "You are about to part ways with your dear friend here." He snapped his fingers. The Gnolls came forward and pulled her away from Anthiel. He fought them and was subdued easily, his arms twisted behind him, a Gnoll arm about his throat. D'anok glanced at Aklar's face. "Wake her. They should get to say goodbye, don't you think?" He laughed. The guardsman shook her brutally, and her eyes fluttered open. Her gaze was unfocused and glazed, and her expression didn't change at all. Anthiel's heart hurt, looking at her. For the first time, he allowed himself to consider the possibility that D'anok had damaged her mind somehow.

The Dark Elf came toward her slowly.

"No greeting for me, Aklar?" He stopped just in front of her, searching her face for some sign that she heard. "Nothing at all?" Her eyes remained fixed and still, her features unmoving. "Most interesting," he murmured and abruptly backhanded her across the face. Her head snapped sideways, dark hair falling forward in a concealing curtain.

"You bastard!" Anthiel threw himself at D'anok in fury, only to be wrenched back by his guards. The Dark Elf didn't even glance at him. He lifted her face with a slim dark finger. She stared past him into infinity.

"Most intriguing... could it be?" he whispered to himself. D'anok paused in obvious indecision and then nodded. "Bring them both."

They followed the Teir'dal to a small room not far from the cell. It was lowed-ceilinged, filled with the accoutrements of magic. D'anok went to a huge slab of black stone and inspected it minutely. Every inch was covered in runes and patterns that twisted and writhed about each other.

"Crude work, but it will suffice. Fetch the knife." A lesser shaman laid a gleaming obsidian knife in his outstretched hand. He turned it over, tested the edge and pursed his lips. "Better. Come. We leave now."

He made himself the center of a circle of 13 shamans, each wearing a black stone pendant that bore lesser versions of the altar's pattern. Ten burly Gnolls hefted the slab of stone and entered the circle. Anthiel and Aklar were held by two guardsmen each.

"So it begins." D'anok raised his hands. Silver blue light shot out to every side, and the room was filled with the blindingly bright shimmering of a group Gating.

Anthiel staggered as the Gating completed, his skin crawling with the feel of the dark magic. His guards jerked him upright again, their claws digging into his flesh. He barely noticed.

They had arrived in a rough chamber, the walls pale stone. The sound of water echoed softly around them, and to his left, he could see the wavering reflections of diffused light on the walls and ceiling. D'anok gave orders in a curt voice, sweat beginning to bead his upper lip. The Gnolls hefted the stone altar and the Teir'dal led the way up a curving tunnel. When it opened again into another room, larger and airier than the last, he paused for a moment and then forced himself through the portal. A small sound escaped him, as of pain, and Anthiel realized where they must be. The Gnolls dragged him through, into Surefall.

Another tunnel, and then another chamber. Once, they came upon a brown bear, and it roared and charged the invaders. The shamans killed it in an instant, felling it in a shower of flame, charring it beyond recognition. Aklar walked like one in a daze, unaware of where they were or what was happening. As they penetrated deeper, the Dark Elf began to sweat and waver. The presence of Tunare would be like a heavy burning weight to him, Anthiel knew. He watched him suffer with grim pleasure.

They came at last to a low doorway. Through it, Anthiel could see a ramp leading across a deep rift in the rock. Refracted light from the water below played on the ceiling. Beyond, the ramp opened into a wide half circle, and there, lumbering to her feet, was an enormous bear. Wise brown eyes regarded them solemnly. Anthiel felt sure that she saw and understood everything in that brief moment.

"Mammoth," he whispered.

"Bind her," D'anok rasped.

Sickly green bubbles of light vibrated around the huge bear, trapping her where she stood. She threw back her head and roared, making the floor shake.

"Silence her!" A shaman gestured swiftly, and she choked, mighty voice dying in her throat. "Set up the altar in front of her. Quickly!" The slab of black stone was swiftly brought forward, turned three times counter-clockwise, and laid before the bear. The shamans took up positions around it, arranging themselves in a circle that took in the bear, D'anok, and the two captives. Anthiel and Aklar were forced to their knees in front of the altar.

Behind them, the High Shaman hastened in, two commanders and a score of guardsmen at his back.

"What kept you?" D'anok's tone was light, but his eyes could have melted steel.

"There were difficulties," began the Shaman, but the Teir'dal cut him off.

"Never mind your difficulties. Time grows short. Lets us begin." The Shaman's eyes narrowed. His upper lip lifted in a silent snarl, and he stepped forward menacingly.

"We are partners in this, My Lord," he hissed. "You might find it in your best interest to show a little respect."

"Well, well," said D'anok, and if he had been angry before, now he burned with a rage that was nearly palpable. "Aren't we brave all of a sudden. Remember, my partner," he spat. "Once the ritual is begun, Tunare's touch here will falter, and my powers return. So think of the future. You might find it in your best interests."

The Shaman growled deep in his throat, but when a Gnoll stepped forward, gripping his spear, he motioned him back with a sharp gesture. D'anok had already turned away.

"Well, I had planned on using your charming friend for this, but now I think she may serve another purpose. And so, my High cousin, that leaves you." D'anok drew out the obsidian knife. He held it before Anthiel, turning it back and forth. The light ran down the blade in ripples as it moved. Anthiel could not seem to take his eyes from it. "It needs blood, cousin. The consecrated blood of a benevolent God's devotee. I think that you qualify."

The shamans began to chant in low voices. The High Shaman stepped up to the altar, and took out a heavy book. It was bound in pale leather, and held shut with black iron clasps. With a shudder, Anthiel realized that the leather was undoubtedly Dwarf skin, a tradition in Neriak. The Shaman laid it on the altar, and opened it. Raising his arms, he began to chant, his voice riding over the other shamans'. The two rhythms combined strangely, set Anthiel's teeth on edge, and then built until his ears ached. His heart labored to beat, drawn into the irregular pulse. Even Aklar, distant as she was, began to suck in her breath as though in pain.

Then, mercifully, it was over. The Shaman fell silent, as did his lesser counterparts. The air was charged now with a heavy stillness. Anthiel waited fearfully. D'anok nodded to Anthiel's guards. "One gripped his hair and wrenched his head back. He squeezed his eyes shut, and prepared his soul to meet Rodcet Nife.

The knife touched the skin above his right eye, paused, and bit deeply. He smothered a cry of pain. Blood ran down his face as the Dark Elf dragged the tip of the knife across his brow and down his cheek, laying it open. The knife hummed like a greedy cat as Anthiel's blood touched it. D'anok stepped away.

Anthiel opened his eyes as the guard released his hair, lowered his chin to see D'anok hand the bloodied instrument to the High Shaman. Blood ran into his eye, and through the red haze he couldn't seem to blink away, he saw the High Shaman gesture grandly. Mammoth was forced down by the invisible bonds, rolled onto her side and then her back. Her head was pressed to the altar, throat exposed. Her eyes rolled, and she dragged air in painfully, great sides heaving. A pitiful moaning came from her as the Shaman raised the knife high in the air. Crackles and sparks began to crawl across the blade where Anthiel's blood was smeared. Aklar began to moan as well. She and Mammoth sounded eerily alike, a dreadful harmony of fearful expectation.

The Shaman glanced down at the book and shouted guttural words. The knife flashed and began to glow blackly, a glow that was an absence of light, an aberration that hurt the eyes. He lowered it slowly to Mammoth's neck, his whole arm trembling.

"Do it," said D'anok harshly, his entire body rigid and twitching with anticipation. The High Shaman sucked in a ragged breath, and sliced the blade jaggedly across.

Aklar screamed, a sound that seemed torn from her very soul. The bear's blood fountained out, spraying the Gnoll and the Dark Elf. The Shaman backed away, but the Elf plunged his hands into the rush, face ecstatic. The red liquid spattered the altar, and the Shaman snatched the book up as he retreated. The tide of red spread over the expanse of stone and ran onto the floor. Mammoth shuddered and was still. Aklar staggered to her feet, tearing away from the grip of her guards. The room shook. Wind howled in through the door, whipping at hair and clothing. It rose higher and higher, until all that could be heard was it's shriek. Aklar reached out with a hand that seemed possessed. Her fingertips hovered above the pooled blood. She threw back her head and screamed again, her voice lost in the wind. The Gnolls covered their ears with their paws, bent double, mouths open in soundless wails. Anthiel crouched on the ground, face distorted. Aklar flung her head back and forth in denial, fighting to keep from touching the gory altar. D'anok turned from the hulk of the dead bear. Blood covered him from head to toe, streaked through his silver hair and soaking his clothes. A terrible smile could be seen through his mask of gore.

He reached across the altar and laid one wet hand on her forehead.

Asleep in the cell, Aklar had fallen back into the dark void. Dreams of the Tree broken and withered, of D'anok laughing amid the ruins of Surefall, of all that she knew and loved turned to ashes on the wind...her dreams set her fleeing. She sought the heart of herself again, that sleek, slick wall that held her from the Goddess. She'd been safe. When the Gnolls had come, she'd only closed herself off, huddled against the barrier, and they had not been able to touch her. Even D'anok's voice, dimly heard, could not reach her.

Then, in the deep recesses of her soul, she had again heard the voice of the Goddess.

It is time now, my child, it had sighed. The wall vanished, melting away. The light flooded out. She knew fear then, a panicky scuttling retreat, but the glow of the Goddess's presence was all around her, and there was nowhere that the Goddess was not.

I fear, my daughter. I greatly fear.

What? Aklar fled for the surface, for the outside world. She didn't understand, and she was in no way prepared for the enormity of what was happening.

I fear that you are not ready...

That was when she felt more than heard Mammoth's muted cries of helpless fright. She cried out in unison with her, feeling suddenly as if it was her own body that was trapped, her breath stifled in her lungs. The knife was at her throat, and fear swelled like a tidal wave.

The shock of the blade tearing through, letting out Mammoth's life in a gush of vital red, flung her out of the depths of her being into the world around her. Still linked to Mammoth, for one instant she was both bound and dying on the altar and witnessing it with horror. She screamed, feeling herself torn in two, ripped asunder in the wake of the great bear's death. The wind howled in and she knew it was Tunare, summoned by the death of her living manifestation. Her body was not her own. She stepped stiffly toward the altar, and her hand lowered slowly toward Mammoth's blood.

No! She begged.

Do you love me? The Goddess was weeping.

Aklar threw back her head and shrieked again, whipping her head in futile denial. Then D'anok's hand was on her forehead, and the world became a blinding, spinning whirl of light.

Freygar entered Surefall at a dead run. The place looked normal, its peace and quiet undisturbed by the turmoil outside. Three Rangers guarding the entrance sheathed swords and relaxed half-drawn bows as they recognized him and his companion. Morna glanced quickly around.

"Let's go to the Great Tree." She was already in motion.

The Great Tree was more than deserving of the name. Freygar gaped up at the impossible height. The bark was pulsing swiftly, coruscating bands of light rippling up from the roots and into the vast reaches of the branches. Inside, the Druids were meditating and praying. Their soft murmurs mixed with the low vibration of the tree to produce a lulling rhythm. Freygar fought the urge to sit down and rest.

Morna paused at the doorway and let Freygar enter first, deferring to him. Te'Anara turned from the council table at the far wall to face him.

"First," he said and bowed formally. "Lord Bayle sent me to…" he couldn't very well say ferret the truth out of her… "make sure that you are safe."

She smiled as if she could read on his face every word he had not said.

"I am touched by his concern," she said smoothly. "But we are perfectly fine. You may tell him I said so." She turned her back again in an obvious dismissal.

"Head D