Azure Bonds

17 Brunch in Shadowdale and the Trek North

“Well, that’s a switch,” Alias muttered as she drew back the curtains to let daylight into her room. Dragonbait lay by the fireside, snoozing away. She was awake before him. Of course, he’d been up late last night keeping an eye on Olive, and he had walked, not ridden, from Cormyr.

He must need rest very badly, she thought, more than the rest of us. And he’s done the most to earn it, too. Still, she couldn’t help wondering mischievously what he would think and feel and do if she were gone when he awoke.

When she’d returned to The Old Skull the night before, he’d been standing near the door of the inn, obviously torn between keeping an eye on the halfling and leaving to find the swordswoman. She had offered to stay in the taproom with Olive so that he could retire, but he had shaken his head in refusal. Alias, feeling worn from their forced march and with her ankle throbbing from her trip in the darkness, had accepted his gallantry gratefully and gone to bed herself. She had no idea what time he’d come up to sleep.

Now she felt just a touch guilty. She crept about quietly as she dressed. Another pang assaulted her conscience as she sat on the bed, pulling on her boots. Dragonbait always slept on the floor. It had never occurred to her to rent him his own room; she’d always assumed he would want to stay near her. She might at least have asked for something with an extra bed for him. “I’ll make it all up to you. Somehow,” she whispered to the sleeping lizard as she slipped out of the room and very gently pulled the door closed.

The taproom was empty when Alias came down the stairs, but Jhaele popped her head out of the kitchen to wish her a good day and ask if she’d slept well.

“Very well, thank you,” Alias assured her. “Do you have any idea where my friends have gone?”

“Did you try their rooms, lady?” Jhaele asked. “I would have thought they’d all still be sleeping.”

“Oh. No, I just assumed they’d be up and about by now.”

Jhaele shook her head. “Mistress Ruskettle didn’t retire until the very small hours, and she drank a good deal of bottled sleep, if you catch my meaning. And your Mister Akash was out all night. Didn’t come home until after dawn. Same with the lizard-creature. He sat by the fire until morning, slipped upstairs for a minute, then left the inn for about an hour and returned with Master Akash.”

Alias ordered breakfast, then took a seat at a table. She stared around the room, feeling a little sad. Everything here was so familiar (except of course the new lord, Mourngrym, and the elusive Elminster), and it hurt that no one remembered her. Last night, however, she’d come to the conclusion that that was part of her curse. Besides making her forget things, the azure brands made other people forget her. Both conditions were bound up in the same spell.

Akabar came down the stairs just as Jhaele was bringing in a tray loaded with waffles, ham, fruit, and tea. “I’ll whip up more of the same,” the innkeep offered.

Alias nodded and pulled out a chair for her companion.

“I understand your meeting with the wise Elminster kept you out all night,” she said. “How’d it go?”

Akabar smiled weakly. “It was all right, I suppose.”

“And?” Alias prompted. “What did he have to say?”

“Say?” Akabar echoed.

Something in his manner made Alias suspicious. “Something bad?” she whispered after Jhaele had laid out extra tableware for Akabar and left.

Akabar shook his head. “I waited half the night to see him, and I came away with nothing more than what we learned from Dimswart back in Suzail.”

“Did he mention the lay of Zrie Prakis and Cassana?”

Akabar made a noncommittal noise as he poured syrup over some waffles.

“Did he?” Alias asked, taking the syrup from him.

“Did he what?” Akabar grumbled, feigning listlessness.

“Did he tell you about the lay of Zrie Prakis and Cassana?”

“No, he didn’t,” Akabar answered and promptly stuffed his mouth with waffles to give himself time to think. What was he going to do? So far, all his answers had been the truth. He had waited half the night for Elminster and longer. He had not learned anything new, and Elminster had not told him about any lay. He could not keep up the ambiguous and vague answers much longer, though. He would either have to admit his failure or lie to her.

He had thought that, when the time came, one action or the other would come easily to him, but they did not. He had been little help protecting Alias, rather the reverse, needing her to rescue him from the kalmari. Now his role as information-gatherer had completely collapsed. His pride could not cope with the admission of his own uselessness.

Yet, surprisingly, the alternative—lying to her—did not come any easier. In his dealings as a merchant, Akabar could stretch the truth with a skill that would make Olive Ruskettle’s head swim, but that skill did not extend to deceiving women. He had never been able to lie to his wives either, even though it might have made some of his nights a little less tumultuous.

“What’s the lay of Zrie Prakis and Cassana?” a shrill voice chirped. Olive climbed into a chair and promptly popped one of Alias’s strawberries into her mouth.

“Apparently,” Alias explained, “they were lovers before they went at each other in the duel that killed Zrie Prakis.”

“Ooo. You humans are such fascinating people. Did Cassana throw herself off a cliff in remorse?” Olive asked, using an extra fork to swipe a large piece of one of Alias’s waffles.

Alias shook her head. “No. She did keep his bones, though. By her bedside as a keepsake.”

“Yuck,” the halfling muttered as she chewed.

“Definitely. I’m surprised Elminster didn’t mention it. It’s supposed to be a common story up north. There’s even supposed to be an opera about it.”

“Perhaps Elminster is not a big opera-lover,” Akabar sniffed and stuffed more waffle into his mouth.

“I don’t blame him,” the bard said. “I’ve heard that people commit murders at operas, and no one notices because everyone on stage is bellowing at the top of his lungs.”

“I don’t see how this story about the mages helps us any,” Akabar said.

“It doesn’t, really,” Alias admitted, “but I just wanted to show that you’re not the only one able to get information. I pick up bits here and there.”

Inwardly injured by the swordswoman’s remark and encouraged by the presence of the halfling, Akabar somehow found the strength to invent a meeting with Elminster.

“I got nothing from this supposedly renowned sage but the standard material we already know. He might have looked it all up in the same book Dimswart used. He had no idea what the last sigil was, either. His reputation is overrated. It must be based on past victories. I only hope when I’m that decrepit and befuddled, I’ll have a profitable business in the hands of my daughters and not have to rely on gulling foolish adventurers.”

“Elminster was decrepit and befuddled?” Alias asked, remembering Mourngrym’s description of the sage as the wisest in the Realms. Still, perhaps Mourngrym’s standards weren’t up to those of Cormyr or the lands farther south. She had harbored one odd idea, however, so she had to ask, “What did he look like?”

“He looked like a spider,” lied the Turmishman, leaning over the table and speaking in a low voice. He had to be carried about from room to room. His hands were shriveled into useless sticks, so that he had to be dressed and fed by his manservant. I know. I watched him eat. It was most unpleasant.”

Alias pondered the mage’s description while she sipped her tea. She had suspected her goatherd to be Elminster, though he had tried to lead her away from that idea. Powerful, famous people often traveled around dressed as commoners, at least in lays and songs. But if the sage was chair-ridden, her goatherd had to be someone else.

That didn’t mean she valued the old man’s advice any less, and she certainly appreciated his finder’s stone, kept safely tucked away in her boot top. It made her feel a lot less nervous, knowing he had been just a wise, old man. Had Elminster himself taken such an interest in her singing, she’d know she was in more trouble than she could handle.

Jhaele brought out another breakfast tray and unloaded the contents onto their table.

“Pass the strawberries,” Olive demanded, dumping the contents of the fruit bowl on top of another grilled cake and handing the empty bowl back to Akabar, who put it aside without noticing. He was nearly holding his breath, afraid Alias might make some comment about Elminster that Jhaele would hear and contradict, belying his story.

“I need to do some shopping,” Alias announced, draining her tea cup. “Would you mind very much taking care of the food provisioning?” she asked the Turmishman.

“Not at all,” Akabar assured her, forcing a smile to his lips. That’s all he felt good for lately, buying the groceries from other greengrocers like himself.

Alias rose from the table and went over to knock on the kitchen door. Jhaele handed her another tray.

“I’m taking this up to Dragonbait,” she explained to the others.

“Why? Is he sick?” Olive asked.

“No. I just thought he deserved breakfast in bed for a change.”

Akabar tried not to look too anxious when he asked, “When are we leaving here?” The sooner they were gone from Shadowdale, the sooner his lie about Elminster would be safe from revelation. Also, it would be easier to keep an eye on the lizard when they were on the road.

“About two hours. There’s a way station up the road about ten miles. I’d like to reach it by nightfall.”

“Anything I can do?” Olive asked offhandedly.

“Keep out of trouble,” Alias suggested.

“I might manage that,” the halfling said with a prim nod.

Dragonbait was still asleep when Alias returned to the room. She set the tray down by his nose. He inhaled before he opened his eyes.

“Hungry, sleepy-head?”

The lizard sat up and smiled. His cloak fell away as he broke off some waffle and popped it in his mouth.

The scent of lemon wafted about the room. Aren’t we too far north for lemon trees to bloom? Alias wondered.

She began packing up her clothes. The turquoise wool tunic lay across a chair. Last night it had been mud-spattered from her fall. Now it was mysteriously laundered and dried. She gathered it up in her hands and went to sit beside Dragonbait.

“Look, you’ve got to stop doing things like this.”

Dragonbait tilted his head and made a chirping noise.

“Don’t give me that I-don’t-understand look,” Alias said. “I don’t care if you tease Olive, but I know you understand me. I want you to stop this servant routine. You’re not my servant. You’re … my traveling companion. I know I’m lazy about looking after my things sometimes, but you’ll spoil me if you keep this up. I know how useful you are. You don’t have to keep proving it to me. Do you understand?”

Dragonbait met her gaze with his unblinking yellow eyes. He nodded.

“All right, then. Better finish your breakfast. We’re leaving in a few hours. I’m going to the smithy to have the kinks ground out of my blade. You can bring your sword down too if you want.”

Suddenly anxious to leave for the open road, Alias hurried to finish packing. While the lizard polished off his meal, she wrote out the words to the Standing Stone song and left them for Jhaele to give to the songhorn player.

No one in town would let them pay for supplies or services. Mourngrym had passed the word that bills were to be submitted to the tower. Alias was glad she hadn’t assigned the halfling any shopping tasks. Who knew what the bard would pick up on the town’s tab? For herself, Alias picked up a new dagger and shield from the smithy and had him sharpen her blade.

Dragonbait looked a little anxious about turning his own bizarre weapon over to the craftsmen, but the man reassured him with the special care he took handling the sword before he began working on it.

They left town four hours before sunset. A few townsfolk bid them farewell as they traveled along the road, but Alias caught no glimpse of her goatherd.

The weather held fair and warm, and no extraordinary encounters marred their travels. A singularly stupid troll attacked Dragonbait on watch their second night out from Shadowdale, but when the rest of the party woke up the troll was burning merrily on the fire. The next day, they lost several hours in the Elven Wood, hiding uncomfortably in a damp cave to avoid a large party of orcs.

Their stay in the town of Voonlar was cut short when a sheriff’s deputy’s purse was found in Olive’s room at the inn. Rather than arrest them, the deputy accepted an apology accompanied by the return of all his gold, thrice what could have possibly fit in the leather pouch. They also had to agree to leave town immediately. Alias was ready to throttle the halfling, but Olive argued her innocence so vehemently that the swordswoman believed her.

More than the loss of a night in clean sheets troubled Alias. There were rumors of a war to the east, and she hadn’t had any time to confirm them.

They camped outside of town and continued toward Yulash in the morning. Twice that day the shadow of some great, flying beast crossed the sun, causing all the horses to panic and rear on their hind legs.

Still, Alias remained unperturbed. She felt that “they,” the people who had branded her, had given up. There were no more disturbing dreams or giant monsters or assassins in black. The swordswoman was willing to bet that the kalmari in Shadow Gap had been their last card. I’ve passed out of their range, she assured herself. Only Moander is up here, and he’s been locked up beneath Yulash.

By twilight they were in sight of the great mound on which the city of Yulash stood. The single hill sloped gently, resembling a giant shield lying face-up on the plain. According to Olive, once upon a time an individual standing in the highest citadel atop the crown of the hill could see the smoke rise from the dark furnaces of Zhentil Keep, and the fog roll off the shores of the Moonsea.

“One of the merchants in Shadowdale told me that the Yulashians could have seen the glow of fire when dragons destroyed Phlan, except they were being destroyed by dragons themselves at the time. A horde of them came down on the Dales two years back,” Olive explained. “Destroyed one of Shadowdale’s high-muckety witches.”

“Syluné,” Alias snapped.

“Yes. That was her name. Anyway, the dragons left Phlan and Yulash in ruins, killed all the rulers and mages, and scattered the commoners.”

“Now Zhentil Keep forces occupy the rubble,” Akabar reminded them. “Its altitude makes it a strategic location.”

As the darkness settled, they could see there were fires on Yulash mound, punctuated by flashes of fireball and other magical flames.

“The war is at Yulash.” Alias spat with annoyance.

“Hillsfar forces trying to take it away from the Zhentil Keep army stationed there,” Akabar guessed.

The next day they traveled more cautiously as they passed great, burned stretches of overgrown fields, untended orchards completely shattered by lightning, and ridges of ground torn up by the claws of great beasts.

When piles of rusted weapons and rotted carrion began to dot the side of the roads, they dismounted and walked beside the horses and pony to calm them and to avoid presenting themselves as targets.

They could have ridden into Yulash before sunset if it had been a more peaceful season. Instead, they camped a quarter mile away, using an overturned wagon to shelter them from view of the forces defending and attacking the town’s main citadel. Even if they could get closer without being hit by a stray arrow or magic spell, they could be caught by an army and executed as spies.

They were close enough to hear metal clashing on metal as some of the combatants met in swordplay, commands barked out by captains, cheers from men who’d just managed to kill someone or something, and cries of horror from men who had seen their last battle.

After dark, a great, glowing whirlwind spun around the top of the mound, igniting members of the attacking force. As their bodies scattered down the slope, they looked to Alias, from a distance, like sparkling seeds falling away from a flaming dandelion.

“Well, it certainly is more amusing to watch than your standard campfire,” Olive commented. “Though it lacks a certain warmth.”

They hadn’t dared light their own campfire for fear of being discovered by a foraging patrol, so after a cold dinner, the four adventurers sat huddled against the overturned wagon as the night air grew more and more chill. Olive shivered, wrapped beneath her own cloak and two of Akabar’s. The mage affected a pose of calm unconcern, but Alias caught him blowing into his cupped hands, trying to keep them warm. Dragonbait kept peering around the side of the wagon, fascinated by Yulash mound. The horses, tethered nearby behind the one remaining wall of an ancient farmer’s cottage, whickered uncomfortably. Dragonbait echoed the sound, though whether he was trying to comfort them or agreeing with them Alias could not tell.

In the soft glow of the finder’s stone, Alias could not escape the halfling’s accusatory stare or Akabar’s expectant one. “When I led us up here, I had no idea the area would be so unsettled.” Each intermittent flash from the city’s ruins drew her attention. I feel like a moth, she thought, trying to get into a lantern, beating against the glass. Somewhere in that maze of ruins lies the answer to my curse—I’m sure of it.

“I had assumed the city would be firmly in the hands of one side or the other. Then we could use the same trick we used in the dragon’s lair. Akabar would scout ahead with his wizard eye trick, Olive would accompany me to help with locks, traps, and other tricky parts, and Dragonbait would remain behind with the gear.”

Olive muttered something about “thief’s tricks,” and Dragonbait scowled, but Alias ignored them both. “However,” she continued, “that was all assuming we only had to elude a sleepy city guard. With two active forces looking for enemy troops, our chances of sneaking in unnoticed are …” she hesitated, trying not to sound falsely optimistic.

“Slim,” Akabar suggested.

“Try nil,” Olive retorted. “Humans. Always fighting over who gets the better view.”

“They don’t battle over it just because it’s the only major terrain between the forest and the river,” Akabar lectured. “Remember, it sits on the route south from Zhentil Keep. If Hillsfar should take and hold the city, they would effectively blockade Zhentil Keep’s bulk trade.”

“And there’s probably more gold and treasure left in the wreckage, in hidden cellars and dungeons, than in the active mines of the dwarves,” Alias added.

Olive perked up a little, cheered by the thought of treasure. Dragonbait stood and walked over to the horses to stroke Lightning. All the while the lizard’s eyes remained fixed on the glowing hill.

Akabar followed the lizard.

“Where are you going?” Alias called to him.

“To help Dragonbait with the horses.”

“You’ve been fussing over him ever since we left Shadowdale,” the warrior noted. “Helping him fetch wood, keeping watch with him. He can take care of himself.” She tugged on the mage’s robes until he was forced to sit back down beside her. “Now, what do you think our chances would be if we contacted one side or the other to make a deal?”

Trying not to appear too distracted with keeping an eye on Dragonbait, Akabar said, “If you do, contact Hillsfar. Their ruler, I’ve heard, is a merchant-mage like myself. His name is Maalthir. If one of these forces is indeed his, it will include a company of his prize mercenaries, the Red Plumes. We need only look for their banner.”

“Yes, then we’ll have found the Red Death,” Olive growled. “That’s what Maalthir’s mercenaries are called among my people. Under his orders, they carried out a campaign to purge Hillsfar of thieves. Human thieves could hide, but all halflings were thieves, as far as Maalthir’s Red Death was concerned. They drove every halfling from the city in the middle of the night, forced them to leave their valuables behind, didn’t even give them a chance to sell the land or shops they owned.

“As distasteful as Hillsfar’s policies might be, you can hardly expect us to deal with the baby-slaying Keepers. I’ve heard that they plight their troth with succubi, eat the brains of elves, and worship gods so black they make Moander seem nice. Their names are feared as far south as my native land. And the council who rules them, the Zhentarim, are twice as dark as the Keepers.”

“I didn’t suggest we deal with the Keepers,” Olive replied. “I was only reporting on the firsthand news I have about the Hillsfar government. I have no reason to expect better of the Zhentil Keep soldiery. They’re all human, too, at least mostly, I’m told. You must realize, though, that all the accusations you’ve made against Zhentil Keep are the standard lies told about any successful city by its jealous enemies.”

“There are too many stories told of the Zhentarim for them all to be lies. As a bard you must know stories of their methods—how they secretly support orcs so they will attack any who oppose the Zhentarim’s will.”

“And as a bard,” Olive said, “I have the ability to separate the grain from the dross.”

“Gold,” corrected Akabar. “Gold from dross. Grain from chaff.”

Alias sighed and stood up. The mage and the bard could argue until Yulash was dust. She strode over to watch the battle with Dragonbait. As the finder’s stone illuminated their mounts, she could see the beasts stood alone. She poked her head around the wall, but the lizard was not there. She went back to the wagon and peeked around that, but he wasn’t there either.

Olive was continuing her testimony on the cruelty of the Hillsfar people, while Akabar was trying to interrupt her with some point about the evil of the Zhentarim.

Made impatient with a sudden attack of anxiety, Alias snapped at both of them. “Listen to yourselves. You’re not disagreeing with each other, you’re just arguing for the sake of arguing. Can’t you see something’s wrong?”

“What is it?” Akabar asked.

“Dragonbait’s gone,” she whispered.

“Gone where?” Akabar asked, glancing around their campsite while cursing himself for not keeping an eye on the potentially treacherous lizard.

“Just gone,” Alias said. A particularly bright flash filled the sky, and thunder rumbled all about them. The swordswoman peered across the momentarily illuminated open fields, but she could not pick out the lizard’s figure.

“Perhaps you better stay down,” Akabar suggested.

“He’s disappeared,” Alias whispered, still standing.

“He’s probably only out looking for firewood or something,” Olive suggested.

“We haven’t got a fire,” Akabar growled.

“Maybe he decided we should have one,” Olive retorted.

If I hadn’t been such a fool, Akabar berated himself, arguing with the halfling and allowing myself to be distracted from watching the lizard, this wouldn’t have happened. Who knows what sort of betrayal I’ve let us in for now?

“Or he could be out filching us a nice, hot, ten-course meal, with wine,” Olive continued brightly.

Alias scowled. She noticed Akabar frowning as well. She hadn’t realized he cared for Dragonbait as much as she.

Should I tell her about the lizard’s brands, Akabar debated. I can’t prove it now, and it still might not make her doubt him. No, better just to watch for him.

Alias stared at the city. The crackling of the fires and magics burning there pulled at her like a siren’s call. Olive could be right. But suppose he’s scouting out the territory to prove he should not be left behind? It was one thing to leave him guarding the equipment or even to have him fighting at her side, but imagining him out there, alone, unable to call for help, not even if he were injured.… Alias moaned softly, feeling suddenly miserable.

“He’ll come back,” Olive said again. “He always does.”

The night grew even colder, and eventually, as the combatants on the hill wearied and let their fires and magics die out, it grew darker, too. Olive was a snoring lump in a bundle of furs, Akabar a motionless mannequin in his colored robes and one blanket. Alias shivered in her only cloak, but she could not stay wrapped in her blankets. She spent her watch pacing and staring into the darkness, waiting for Dragonbait to return. She did not bother to wake Olive, but continued to watch past her turn.

But Dragonbait still did not return.

A few pins of light from watchfires in the city pricked at Alias’s eyes. He’s there, was all she could think. He went into the city without me.

Like I planned to do to him, she added. Again she felt the draw of the city, an ache to learn the mystery within.

Her heart prompted her to look in Yulash, but her head insisted she had no proof that he was there. He could be anywhere. He might have been captured by the Keepers or the Red Plumes. That thought made her more anxious. As far as she knew, both Akabar and Olive had been right in their claims of Hillsfar and Zhentil Keep atrocities.

Actually, Alias couldn’t think of any army that would let a creature as blatantly non-human as Dragonbait pass unchallenged. They’d try to capture or kill him immediately. Probably kill, Alias admitted, because he’d put up a fight.

She was ready to wake the mage and bard and set out immediately when another thought made her hesitate. If he’s wandering out on the plains, lost, but finds his way back to an empty camp, he’ll think we’ve been captured. Someone has to stay, she decided. But Akabar looked so concerned by the lizard’s disappearance, Alias knew he would insist on accompanying her, and Olive would not stand for being left behind, believing there was treasure to be had in the city.

She hovered uncertainly over the two sleeping forms for several moments, trying to make up her mind. Going alone would only perpetuate the lizard’s folly, but she could not help herself. She bent down over Akabar’s pack and dug out a stick of charcoal and his map. On the back she wrote: “Looking for D. Wait here.”

She lay the parchment by Akabar’s head. Then, after slipping the finder’s stone in her boot, she picked up her shield and sword and walked away. Her steps drew her toward the great mound city.

Akabar’s eyes snapped open the moment Alias opened his pack.

The mage had cast a magic mouth enchantment on his earring to tell him if Dragonbait returned, and at first he thought that was what had awakened him, but when the piece of jewelry repeated its magical warning, whispering, “Someone’s in your pack,” he realized his mistake.

After the earlier disappearance of his magical tome, back when the halfling had joined his caravan, the mage had decided that it would not be squandering his power to use it to protect his property, even from a fellow traveler. Still, he wondered at Ruskettle’s nerve and dishonor.

He lay perfectly still, focusing on his baggage through the slits of his eyelids, but the figure rooting through his belongings was too big to be Ruskettle. It couldn’t be Dragonbait; his other magic mouth spell would have warned him.

When the figure straightened, Akabar nearly gasped and sat up in surprise. It was Alias. She scrawled something hastily on his map and then took a step toward him.

Akabar closed his eyes. He almost held his breath, but caught himself in time and began feigning the shallow breathing of a sleeper. Through his eyelids, he could sense the stone’s light on his face and then sense it move away. He peeked through one eye. Alias took up her sword and shield and left the camp.

Slowly, Akabar rose and looked out across the plains. He caught a flash of moonlight glinting off of Alias’s polished shoulder-plates. She was headed toward Yulash.

He spied the map. He picked it up and tilted it until the letters could be read by Selûne’s light.

Wait here, indeed! thought the mage, tossing the map onto his sleeping blanket with a deep frown. She lugs us all the way up here and when things get really dangerous, when she could use our help, she abandons us to chase after that lizard—who’s probably reporting us to his hidden masters, setting up a trap for her to walk into.

His first impulse was to chase after the warrior woman and convince her to return, use force if necessary to keep her from marching into Yulash. He would tell her it was smarter to wait for daylight. But he knew in his heart that once the sun had risen, he would only try to convince her that the nightfall might be a better time after all.

She would never hesitate to go searching for the creature she thinks is a friend, while I, Akabar Bel Akash, mage of no small water, cower behind an overturned merchant’s wagon. I am more greengrocer than master mage, the Turmishman thought, ashamed of his fear.

He could wake the halfling, and they could follow Alias together. Olive would have no trouble making up her mind what to do, Akabar realized. You could call her anything except late to looting. Still, taking the halfling did not seem particularly wise. As the old Amnite saying went, when matters are bad, think how much worse they could get if halflings were involved. Akabar didn’t want to put her in any risk of running into the Red Plumes.

Standing with his face toward the waning moon, Akabar began to intone a spell. The deep, rich words rolled off his tongue as his right hand sliced through the air. In it, he held a bit of his own eyelash embedded in a resin of tree gum. At the end of the evocation, his left hand came down hard on the tree gum. The sticky pellet flared a bright blue, consumed by mystical energy.

Akabar held his hands up in the moonlight and watched them go transparent, as though they were sculptures of ice. Then they vanished completely. His vision blurred for a moment, then the world refocused for him. He could see normally, save that when he looked down at himself there was nothing to see but a pair of depressions in the grass.

The parchment map rose from the ground, hovered for a moment, then settled next to the sleeping halfling. What Alias had written could apply to both of them.

Then he used his long legs to stride toward Yulash in the wake of the swordswoman. Nothing but a wave of bent grass blades marked his invisible passing.