“I know that Ailduin has come back to us,” she told him as tears fell off her chin and pattered onto her clothes. “But these dreams are so strong that he still thinks that his old life is ongoing. And his death… his death…”
Vex’s head snapped up. “He cannot dream of that! If he does, his spirit might–”
“Depart again? Yes, yes, exactly, King Vex. That is what is happening. I can feel that I’m losing him. Before he will ever come into this world again, I am losing him!” Her voice rose up in anguish. Her head tipped back as she suddenly screamed with that pain and grief. “And no one can help me! No one!”
Vex was suddenly in front of her. The fires in his eyes blazed but not with anger. His face was alight in a way it had not been when he had entered that place. His voice was filled with emotion as he said, “I can help you. I will help you.”
She looked up at Vex through tears. Her lips quivered into that tentative smile. “Please save my son. Save my Aquilan.”
Crown Of Bones
The first thing Rhalyf did that showed any sort of conscious thought since he’d arrived in Illithor was to remove the glamour that hid his true self. While he had no intention of being seen by his sister, things happened. So in order to lower the possibility of her knowing he was hiding amongst the Aravae, he would look as Kindrethy as possible. Even carrying the Adiva with him was a risk. She could sniff out enchantments and what they did a mile away. But he couldn’t leave the delicate yet powerful ruby and gold enchanted amulet anywhere in Illithor.
Do I think it will get stolen? By whom? The ghosts?
And yet his sister was here. Vex was undoubtedly here. Others might be here. And the Adiva could call to things he didn’t want to find it or him. Besides, he might need to beat a hasty retreat to Earth. It could be morning by the time he returned and he’d need its protection against the Sun.
Do I really think that I’m going back to Earth? Am I hanging onto the idea that I can return to that life?
He was. He had to admit that he most certainly was hoping, praying, begging to return to it. Nothing had ever felt so precious to him before. When he’d left his existence as a Night Elf, he hadn’t felt even a fraction as much regret as he did now despite having to leave behind his position as Vex’s nephew, his great wealth and the prestige of his family, and his library. All right, he missed his library. He really regretted leaving that. But the rest of it? Not at all.
Finley would understand my pain. Good gods, where is Finley in all of this?! Please let him not be anywhere near Haera.
If Darcassan showed disdain for Finley, he was certain that Haera would hardly notice crushing the boy underneath her heel.
Gods help him, but I think he’s better off with Vex than her.
As the glamour dropped from him, he swore he felt his skin tingle as if there had been a physical block between himself and Illithor that was now stripped away. He nearly gasped as that tingling did indeed race over his body from head to toe. His eyelids nearly fluttered shut with the pleasure of it. He felt incredibly well. He breathed deep. His lungs seemed to finally fill for the first time. His spine straightened and he stood taller than before. Magic thrummed within him. He could imagine in that moment simply waving his hand and causing anything to happen. He felt… godlike.
Why did Vex leave here? How could he abandon such power? Our bloodline belongs here. This is our home. My home.
But then he shook himself. Whatever Vex’s reasons for leaving, they were his alone. And no one would be allowed to restore Illithor to its former brilliance unless it was Vex himself. And how could a possible traitor such as himself be a part of that? He couldn’t be. But still, he had never felt such a connection to any place before. A bed was a bed to lay his head. Home was something that moved with him. It was never static. But Illithor? This was different.
It’s more than I ever imagined. Gods, I will never forget this place. It will never leave me. It will haunt me to the end of my days. And those may be coming to a close very soon if I am not careful.
He drew his senses into himself as tightly as possible, closing himself off to the power that Illithor seemed to offer. Immediately, he felt its loss. He went from godlike to normal–well, normal for him anyways–in a moment. He blinked and let out an almost sigh of grief.
How could Vex have left here? He wondered again. Whatever caused him to do it must have been unbearable! I do not think I should linger here any longer than necessary. If I do, I might not be able to leave.
For a moment, he could imagine himself walking as if in a trance amongst the wonders of Illithor. A dreamy expression would be on his features. Even as no food or drink passed his lips or sleep closed his eyes, he imagined himself simply drifting about forever in this place and never noticing as he wasted away. He swallowed hard.
Think of Aquilan. Think of Finley. Think of delicious wine and good food. For gods’ sake remember life!
He shook himself and the feeling retreated, but it was still there in the dim recesses of his mind. He would see what his sister was up to and then he would go after Finley and the others. He would be focused on his task. He would not stay here. He would not lose himself to whatever fell magic this was.
Poisoned chalice indeed!
Rhalyf glided along the side of the Temple of the Stag as he was now calling it in his mind. He would not be going through the front door if he could help it. He was not suicidal after all.
His eyes scanned the high, slick walls of stone for a door, a window or two or a simple breach in the stonework that might let him in. There were high rectangular windows at the very top of the temple. He imagined that they would allow in the golden and purple light of the city, painting the interior in welcoming, mysterious colors. But he’d likely be seen if he climbed through them. No, better to try around back. He highly doubted that the priests entered through the front door. He would get inside via their entrance.
While the Temple of the Stag was up several steep flights of steps–likely so that it rose above its neighbors–whoever had built it had not ignored the area around it. There was a pathway that meandered through glowing blooms on either side of him. Purple bobbing flowers of no known name to him brushed his shoulders. Their long stamens left a glittering dusting of orange pollen on his tunic. He brushed a finger over the dust and sniffed it. He licked a few particles of the stuff up and his eyes widened.
A narcotic. Interesting. Used in their rites? Or perhaps it was to cause worshippers who walked even near the temple to fall into a trance.
He had magical enchantments that kept him free of such traps. The Kindreth were keen poisoners. He’d been trained since a boy to keep any foreign material from affecting him without his consent. Seeing half a dozen food tasters die in a year when his mother had gone up against some of the powerful clans had reinforced that lesson. So though the pollen was thick in the air and the sweet scent of it clung to his nostrils, he suffered none of its ill effects.
His father had willingly ingested a potion of Milky Deadnettle that caused him to lie insensate sometimes for days and have strange dreams. He claimed that it inspired his spellwork, but Rhalyf had been convinced it was just an escape from his existence. His wife–Rhalyf and Haera’s mother–had long lost whatever love she’d had for him. Rhalyf doubted she’d ever had much respect. And while his father had been thought a prodigy when young, his magical achievements had seemingly sputtered out. For as much as Rhalyf did not want to imitate the bloodthirstiness and callousness of his mother, he also didn’t want to follow the indolent and dead end path of his father. It was what urged him ever forward to learn more, practice more, seek more.
