The rebel strike at Jer has forced our advance upon Telga to a halt. The supply lines must be rebuilt and re-secured before moving onward. Is this entire kingdom nothing but traitors? Where do these rebels keep coming from? How can there be so many? The harder we crush them, the greater their numbers seem to become. Do they not realize they are only delaying the inevitable? Even so, I fear it will take us until winter to recover, and with the end of the year approaching, it may not be until spring that we can resume our progress.

Journal of Cassandra Nightwing

Blood once more pooled in the basin carved out in the crystal tomb. Hovering above the cursed child enduring her eternal slumber, Lars fed the reservoir with a stream of the life-giving fluid from the fresh cut on his arm. With gradual ease, the crimson flow proceeded down to the girl's peaceful lips.

The habit of the ritual was particularly sour for him as it reminded the Blood Lord of his own, and deeply personal, failings. "I am not happy to have learned of your failure."

"I did not fail." The fallen angel rebuked the Blood Lord's assertion of what had transpired between her and the cleric.

Waiting off in the shadows of the burial chambers, hood drawn up over her face and concealing it in further darkness, Noranda attempted without success to massage away the pain lingering throughout her arm. The skin was raw and red, rippled with blisters, the end result of her holding tight to the cleric's holy blade and snuffing it out. At the time, she had felt confident there would be no enduring damage from the burning flames. But now, she feared the effects would be longer lasting, if not more permanent. She might be long-lived, but even with access to unnatural forces others could not fathom, she was still mortal. Not at all as she had once been.

Lars removed his arm and the source of the sustenance, turning his blue eyes tinted blood red to confront the fallen angel. He was not about to so easily accept her version of events that had now passed into history. "Show me your face."

"I don't—"

"Show me!" The authority behind his voice was not to be mistaken as a trifling request.

Sensing his challenge to her, Noranda cast back her hood in a stroke of fluid defiance. His insinuation that she was weak and hiding something grated on her nerves. What her action revealed was nothing less than the malformed and blackened remnants of the left side of her face. In some places, the skin was removed so completely, only bone remained. While in others, raw muscle was all that was still visible beneath cauterized wounds. Her hair burned down to a brittle mess of straw-like material, the fallen angel was a grotesque alteration of her former self. "Are you happy now? To see me like this?"

Lars shook his head. "I am not happy to see that my plans are coming undone because of your arrogance. You assured me you could handle her."

"She had help." Noranda returned her hood to its place over her face and her scars into darkness. "An ally who has been continually troublesome, to say the very least."

"This angel you've spoken of?" The words spat out of the Blood Lord. "I don't want excuses."

"I do not make excuses." Noranda adjusted her covering as it brushed against the rawness of her wounds and irritated them. "This cleric is a distraction, anyway. She has nothing to do with our attempts to recover the Tear of Earoni. I realize that now. She is wounded, and for the time being neutralized. We must focus our attention on Cassandra's sister and the elven woman."

"Neither of which we know the whereabouts of." Storming past her and out of the tomb, Lars sought to remove himself from the memory of the child he kept imprisoned within the bowels of the palace. While it healed at an accelerated pace, some blood from the self-inflicted wound on his arm fell to the floor and marked the trail of his retreat.

"Fate," Noranda reminded him, "necessitates that both sisters of Stormband and the elven woman must be in the same place at the same time to open the shrine. Each of them has one of the three keys that are required, so we will play that to our advantage."

"I agree. Enough with worrying in advance about the how and when. Cassandra is our insurance that we will know when and where such a momentous event occurs." However, after saying such, Lars added his concerns to the conversation. "The Rebellion cannot be allowed to gain any foothold, no matter how seemingly minor, within my empire. Not yet. The Rebellion and this cleric might indeed be only a distraction, but one that could prove problematic to avoid if their influence were to grow. Once I have the Tear, they can have their whole cursed kingdom back for all I care. I never wanted it in the first place. But not a moment before. Not before our victory is secured, and my curse is lifted and my promise is fulfilled."

Even though her lips could not be seen, Noranda smiled. "With the way things are progressing, I would say that the simultaneous end of both our quests are near. I do not see the Rebellion as much of a consequence at this point. They must only be held at bay long enough for us to obtain our goal."

Hunched over a mug of warm broth, Sheala attempted to sip the frost from her body.  With the depth of the cold here, she wondered how bad the weather was back home and much further south in Catersburg.  She also considered the certainty that in the year she had been gone someone, or someones, from one or more of the local guilds had discovered and raided her various stashes hidden about the city.  Pondering how to replace that lost treasure was a game with in her mind as of late, especially now that Fimmirra was no longer a possible place for her to put down roots and begin a new life.  Something she had grown to hope it would be.

Taking another slow drink, "I can't believe you actually trusted that scoundrel Corsair to take the Oracle out to sea."  

"I couldn't afford a second winter without income." While she chowed on a plate of stewed meat and potatoes smothered in their own juices, Reane lamented how her ship had sat tied up in Catersburg the previous winter and cost her a small fortune.  People didn't understand how expensive being a smuggler actually was.  She didn't want to admit it to anyone, but those five pieces of elven gold Anthony had paid her in advance had helped her settle some debts.  "I've got a business to run.  Besides, you think I wanted to pay the dockage fees any of these ports out here in the Borderlands charge?  They're outrageous.  And people think the Empire is bad?"

"I'm sure you could have negotiated a sweetheart of a deal, if you catch my drift.  I've seen you manipulate people's minds and trick them into seeing things your way.  At the very least, I'd have thought you would've sent Brentai with them."  Staring into her now empty cup, Sheala's mood turned even more bitter.  "Just to make sure she comes back in one piece.  Or at all."

"He insisted on coming with us."

"Ok, let me rephrase that," Sheala sighed.  "I would have preferred if you would've sent him out with the ship."

Finishing her latest mouthful of food, Reane took her time before issuing her response to her friend's lament.  With the last bit swallowed she spoke. "He hasn't given up on the two of you.  Even if you might have."

"Why do you feel like putting words into my mouth?" A roll of her eyes accompanied Sheala's reply. "I'm going to give it another chance.  Just not today."

"OK, then when?"

The question caused Sheala to clam up for a minute.  "I dunno. Wounds are too fresh right now.  Maybe after all this is over."

"A bit of advice, if I may?"

"You probably will anyway.  So go ahead."  Sheala took another attempted draw from her cup of broth before remembering it was empty and becoming disappointed at the lack of soothing warmth to be found.

"Don't wait.  Don't work on maybes. Either do or don't."

"Look, I think if—"

*Hold that thought.* Reane's mentally transmitted voice halted the response as a split second later the door opened and two men blundered in.  One was a complete stranger to the captain.  But the other?  Well, Civn's sour visage was unmistakable.

"Shit."  Sheala recognized him as well the instant he appeared in the doorway.

*Relax.*  Even as she saw her friend grappling for her sword, Reane already had her plan of action figured out.  

"But—"

*Just stay still.  And quiet.*

"They'll see us," Sheala leaned in and whispered.

*No.  They won't.  Trust me. And, please stop talking.*

Sheala complied, but not without serious reservations.

The two men, Civn in all black, and the other, equally rugged fellow in a red and black uniform that spoke of his assignment within the Imperial Army, stood there for a brief moment before fully entering and once more sealing the inside of the tavern off from the outside world.  The pair stalked around the joint like they owned the place in what quickly became clear was an obvious search.  Most of the patrons tried, even if nervously, simply to keep a low profile.

Surveying the gathered throng of locals and passers through, at one point Civn's accomplice tore back the hood of one solitary form minding their own business and averting their eyes.  Upon seeing the old woman's gray hair, Halond proceeded on from table to table with an absolutely disgusted look to him.

While his partner worked his way through the crowd, checking the appearance of others, Civn came within two feet of the only empty table in the entire place.  He breathed in the aroma of hearty and brothy beef, looking for the source and finding none.  Then he turned around and rejoined his associate.

"Dey aint 'ere."  His proclamation rang sour.

"Source swore they were," Civn's partner said, ticking off descriptions on his fingers. "Said he saw the red-head and the blonde not ten minutes ago.  Also said he saw a Pelsan, a man with a patch on one eye, and two elves — one with silver hair about a five days ago.  That's what he said.  Matches the description perfectly of the group we're looking for."

"And as ye can see," Civn replied, "Ain't a sign of dem.  Civn gettin' real tired of de wild goose chases.  Want ta head ta warmer places and out of dis horrid weat'er."

"Yeah, yeah.  Me too, buddy.  I'd love to pack up and just head for Karvel or Helanor.  But, you know we got jobs to do.  General's orders."

Returning his gaze to the empty table he had first been drawn to, Civn swore something was different now.  If he hadn't known better, one of the chairs had shifted positions slightly despite no one having gone near it.  But that couldn't be right, so he once more removed his attention away from it.

A moment later, something in the back of his mind forced him to look again.  When he did so, the table had a now empty mug and a half-eaten plate of food sitting where neither had been before.  And every one of his instincts told him something wasn't right.

*Brentai?*  Reane was concentrating on both forming a connection with her first mate and navigating the narrow street lined with various stalls of the sparsely populated market which had a limited selection this time of the year, anyway.  She wasn't even sure if he was back within range of her telepathy.  *Brentai?  Are you there?*  There was a lot of interference from all the other minds occupying this town as well.

"We need to get the heck out of here before Civn and his little friend figure out that we really are hanging around this crap hole of a town."  Simultaneously with her words, Sheala pulled up her cloak to hide her face, realizing people were actively looking for her.  "You get a hold of Brentai yet?"

"No, not yet.  Probably could get it done quicker if you'd stop bothering me though."  Then the captain turned her thoughts back to the task at hand.  *Brentai?*

"What's Civn doing palling around with military, anyway?  And out here?"

"No idea.  Didn't want to pry too much into that mush of a brain of his and risk him sensing me.  But they obviously want us, so let's not stick around and give them that pleasure.  I'm sure that we've made the Empire's most wanted list by now, with you being a Fimmirran ambassador, me fleeing Catersburg with Anthony after he tried to murder an Imperial general, and us traveling with elves and all."

"Sorry," Sheala apologized as she bumped into a woman perusing some bread at one vendor.  There was no response other than a scowl from the patron of that particular stall.

*Reane?* Brentai's voice crackled to life in the captain's mind.  *What's going on?*

*We've got a problem.* She chose her initial response in such a way as to transmit as much information in as few mental words as possible.  *You all back in range I take it?*

*Yeah, we just came into town.  Takes me a while to get my mind cleared enough to respond to your thoughts, you know that.  Just me, Anthony, Ittan, and Sayra though.  Gregory and our human escorts are a day outside the city.  We didn't want to attract attention.  We've seen some Imperial patrols.  And we sent our elven escorts on up ahead to followup on some rumors we heard about where the Rebellion is headquartered and to try to make contact on our behalf.*

*Good plan.  By the way, we're leaving.  Now.*

*What's wrong?*

*Unexpected guests.* Reane informed him.  *You remember my old friend, Civn, right?*

There was a pause from Brentai.  *Wouldn't call him a friend, but sure.*

*It was a joke.  Well, he's in town and poking around looking for us.  All of us.  Pretty sure that Pelsan complexion of yours is going to stick out like a sore thumb, so let's get this show on the road.*

*Right, we'll—*

"'Ello dere, Reane."

Reane and Sheala both stopped dead in their tracks as Civn appeared with an unwelcome suddenness from between two stalls to cut them off.  Sheala drew out her sword and went into one of the ready stances Gregory drilled into her, while the man operating the stall to her left quickly grabbed up his few wares and backed away from the brewing conflict.

Civn responded by putting up his hands as a sign of not wanting a confrontation, which stunned both women.  "No need fer dat.  But dat was a good disapearin' trick ya pulled back dere at de inn.  Teach dat ta me someday?"

"What do you want, Civn?"  Reane inquired, signaling for Sheala to stand down, a request her friend flatly refused to comply with.  "What are you doing with the Imperials?"

"Why, lookin' fer ya.  More specifically though, the Imperials be lookin' fer her."  He motioned to Sheala.  "Though specifically Civn lookin' fer ya." Noticing the increasing commotion over the confrontation happening in the street, Civn made a prudent suggestion.  "Perhaps we could go somewhere else an discuss t'ings?  Somewhere dat be a little more private of a setting?"