Somewhere uncomfortably warm...

Malavon's eyes widen and he shifts almost imperceptibly. He takes a deep breath, back ridged. "They have arrived. *This* one's companions. My forces have engaged them with slave fodder, but according to the reports they have already slain one of my wizards. They are dangerous. I assumed you would want to be informed immediately."

He steps back through the portal, red robe rippling behind him. "I needn't remind you upon whose shoulders would ultimately fall the blame for failure to defend Dorn's Deep and the work being done here."

His lip curls just short of a true sneer, and then he is gone and the portal closes.

Ilmadia remains completely still for a moment, then jumps into action. She sheaths her sword and snatches up Zenithral's pack. "Now is your chance." She thrusts his pack at him. "Tell me where the twins are," she commands, "and you can take your friends and go. Leave the North, and you will be safe."

Zenithral stands awkwardly as the conversation ensues. He exhales, cheeks puffed. After Malavon leaves, he finally speaks.

"Uhhh....I'm really not inclined to allow you to turn my siblings into devilish weapons for Belhifet..." He holds his hand up before she can reply. "Yes, I know that I so very little about his brilliant plan and why he's doing it...so tell me! If his endeavors are truly right, then tell me! I want to understand!"

"Weapons for Belhifet!" Ilmadia throws up her hands. "Who do you think I am trying to protect them from? Protect you from?" She shakes her head. "It's not for you to know. Belhifet has great plans, but greatness always requires sacrifices. I won't have you be one of them. Mother may have wanted to raise us up as perfect Ilmatari lambs for slaughter, but I protect my children."

She folds her arms across her chest and Zenithral is reminded forcefully of Arannis at his most stressed. "This is your last chance. Tell me where Isair and Madae are, and promise to leave the North immediately, and you and all your friends can walk away. If you refuse, I let Malavon deal with the intruders, and you stay here. Better you be far away, but I'd rather have you close than dead. I will find the twins either way. I won't be kept from my children again."

Ilmadia arches an eyebrow and this time Saki is sent echoing through Zenithral's mind. "Quickly now! Time is ticking for the twins. They will never be safe if Belhifet discovers their existence."

Like an arrow, scraped apart from hewn branches and strapped and glued, then and shot repeatedly over great distances before finally breaking into a splintered mess inside someone's heart. Zenithral was torn apart.

"If I tell you where the twins are...and if I promise I will leave the North...then my friends and I can leave Dorn's Deep unharmed." Zenithral says, struggling to process everything. "Is that completely correct? And do you swear it?"

"And the gnome woman. Nancy. Can she leave with me?"

"That is correct. Nancy?" Ilmadia looks confused, but barely considers it in her haste. "Yes. If you uphold your end of the deal and leave immediately, she can safely go as well. I'll swear it on whatever you like."

Zenithral dismisses Fluphy, having witnessed Ilmadia's confirmation.

Don't do it, part of him says.

He bites his lip.

You've seen Malavon's spells he's forged. Your friends are strong, but they are weary. another part says.

He opens his mouth to speak.

It's a trick. You won't be saving anyone...You'll just be dooming yourself to exile... The voice is louder.

He closes his eyes.

It's my mother...and my siblings... he protests.

"They're..."

You have a job to do. Given to you by Ilmater himself. Louder.

He clenches his fists.



He picked the wrong half-elf.

"They're in Kuldihar," he says. "Under the watch of Halla the Archdruid."

"Kuldahar!" Ilmadia gasps. "It's a good thing you told me. Thank you, Zenithral." She snaps her fingers and Druzil, in his true imp form, appears in his special loft. "Tell Malavon to cease all hostilities. He is to arm Zenithral with arrows and the finest longbow we have available, then find the gnome Nancy and deliver them both unharmed to the intruders. They are all to leave immediately. If they refuse, resume the defence. You can supervise, and let the wizard know I'll be...displeased with any deviation from my orders."

Ilmadia rushes to a bookshelf and picks an ornate box off the shelf. She returns to Zenithral and presses it into his hands.

"My dear boy." She embraces him and holds him close. "I've been so anxious since I learned that you were roped into all this. I'll rest so much easier knowing you've abandoned this foolish mission." She pulls away reluctantly. "You don't have to live the life your grandparents picked for you. I look forward to seeing the one you find for yourself in the south."

With that, Ilmadia steps back, speaks a few arcane words, shimmers, then disappears.

Zenithral winces when Ilmadia embraces him.

After she leaves, he continues to stand silently. Eyes still shut. Fists still clenched. A drop of blood trickles from where he bit his lip, falling off his face like a crimson tear.

Druzil appears in a flash of dark smoke, bringing a burning smell of brimstone to the room. The imp takes off with a flap of leathery bat wings even before Ilmadia finishes her instructions, diving through the curtain of lava. Bonded as her familiar, he hears her words even from a great distance.

After some time, perhaps a half hour, the lava curtain parts and Malavon beckons Zenithral from the room with a crooked black finger. "Whatever foolishness this is, let us get it over with quickly. Come, ibilith."

Dead-eyed, Zenithral rolls off the bed. He slings his pack on his back and follows silently without making eye-contact.

The archmage sneers at Zenithral's apathy. "It seems she broke you after all."

Malavon leads Zenithral through a passageway and into a grand hall, all of it crafted from the same black metal with rivulets of lava flowing down in some places, as well as a large fountain of the stuff in the middle of the great room. The metal must have some powerful magical properties to stand against the incredible heat.

Zenithral follows the drow out into an immense cavern lit by a lake of the molten rock. Walkways and platforms stand over the lava, leading past enormous vats, huge anvils, and more than a dozen fire giants hard at work putting hammer to metal. With beards of flame and dusky skin, they almost appear to be huge dwarves, looking over their craftwork with intense care. They pay no heed to Malavon or his charge.

The two continue on up a great staircase and into a set of caverns. A short while later Zenithral recognizes the market area where he fled from Malavon and the umber hulks. The incident seems to be fresh in Malavon's mind, for he mutters darkly under his breath as the they keep moving.

At some point in the journey Zenithral feels small claws dig into his shoulder, though he sees nothing there. A voice sounds in his mind, that of Druzil. Keep quiet, Zenithral, and you and your friends might actually survive what is to come. Malavon thinks he can make a power play while Ilmadia is gone.

They pass into halls of finely-worked marble. Here there are other drow, an assortment of warriors, scouts, and spellcasters. They move about with remarkable grace, but evident excitement, hands flashing to each other in some kind of unspoken language of signs and gestures.

One of the passing dark elf soldiers bumps into Zenithral and stumbles. "Watch your step, ibilith!" Did that drow just wink at him? Then the soldier is gone. But Zenithral feels something in his sleeve that was not there before. An arrow! It hums gently against his arm with some kind of power.

Druzil chuckles in his ear and mind. Bene telemara! This will be interesting...

Malavon stops occasionally to engage in sign conversation with several of the drow, and each one slips silently away to fulfill whatever instructions have been given them.

Then he brings Zenithral to a chamber that glows red with molten stone from a wide chasm that cuts across the floor. A walkway without rails crosses it, leading down a long tunnel. There appears to be some light on the far side.

There are several drow here, resting on their haunches as they keep watch on the corridor. Slumped against a side wall is the corpse of a dark elf wizard, an arrow sprouting from his chest and another from his eye.

Malavon gestures imperiously, and one of the drow moves into the corridor. Is that the same drow who bumped into Zenithral earlier? The dark elf soon disappears from view in the shadows of the corridor.

Malavon signals to two more drow, and they move closer to Zenithral, hands resting on the hilts of their fine weapons.

Malavon leaves, then walks back in a few minutes later shoving an elderly gnome woman before him. She keeps her face down, and remains quiet.

The archmage turns to Zenithral. "Now. Let us see if your friends care enough to collect their prizes." His red eyes shine with eagerness.

Oh how I hate you... Zenithral thinks, listening to Malavon. He's tempted to make a rash remark but bites his tongue as the imp told him.