Old friends and bad luck will always turn up when you least expect them. Usually at the same time. The Book of Yor, a Collection of Observations by Talus Yor, Archmage.

    "Lord High Librarian? A moment of your time?" Vondra's tone suggested that, despite the polite formality of her words, he by-the-gods better hear her out.
    Arien Mirida set down his quill and looked up from the sheaf of parchments littering his desk. "A moment, Vondra? Earnestly, only that?"
    She took it as assent and let herself the rest of the way into his spacious office, throwing a quick glance at the wide windows and stately yet luxurious furnishings. A scornful twist to her painted lips made clear her opinion of all she surveyed, Arien included.
    "As you know, Lord High Librarian, I have been in your employ three full years now, and I feel that I have exceeded the expectations of my post."
    "Indeed," he allowed, graciously inclining his head in respect for her hard work. "Your zeal at seeking donations from our wealthier patrons has greatly benefitted the Library, and I have heard nothing but compliments regarding the new organizational system." 
    "I believe that I would do well with more responsibilities," she said, folding her long-fingered, indigo-tinted nails over the many rings she wore. "Arranging the schedules of the Junior Librarians, perhaps?"
    Arien could already hear the groans and cries of protests if he were to allow that. While Vondra's skills were of great value, her sharp tongue and vindictive manner did not contribute to her popularity. He alone was safe from her venomous ire, or so he believed. If she had slandered him to others, he'd yet to learn of it.
    "The Senior Librarians in each department are capable of handling that task."
    "Are they?" She whipped out a small journal and began citing examples at him of how poorly-staffed the Library had been on a number of occasions. 
    Glancing at the dwarf-crafted clock on the shelf above his desk, Arien was surprised at how early it was. It seemed he had been in his office for ages.
    There had been a time, not so long ago, when he would have worked into the wee hours of the morning without intending to, for the sheer pleasure of reading and using his mind. Time would have gotten away from him. It often had. 
    Of course, there had also been a time, not that long distant, when work could only keep hold of him for a short while before he hurried home to Alinora. He had come very close to giving up his post at the Library entirely. Now he was glad he had not. His work was both refuge and escape.
    Most of the time.
    Vondra ended her recitation and looked at him expectantly. He had only listened with half an ear, if that, but he put on his most thoughtful expression.
    "Those are indeed points worthy of consideration," he said. "I shall review the matter, and discuss it with the Seniors." He cast a quick eye over his desk, and seized up a letter. "In the meantime, Lord Crolis is offering to lend the Library his collection of histories, but in return he wishes us to rename the room in honor of his grandfather. Would you be so kind ..."
    "Gladly!" She snatched the letter from his hand as quick as a falcon on a fieldmouse. "I'll see to it at once!"
    He permitted himself a relieved sigh as she swept out the door.
    "Three years," he mused aloud. "I was here fifty ere I even met the Lord High Librarian!"
    *She pulls at the tether,* a voice in his mind observed sleepily. A black drake, a dragon in miniature, raised his wedge-shaped head from his forepaws. He yawned, showing all his teeth and his forked tongue, and sent, *Three years to her is like ninety to you elvenfolk.*
    "Ah, the impatience of the human species. I could fill thick tomes with examples." He got up and reached for his cloak.
    *Are we leaving already?* Darkfire swiveled his head toward the clock and the window, then back to Arien. *It isn't even dinnertime.*
    "Are you of all beings telling me that you are not hungry?" Arien asked teasingly.
    *I'm always hungry.* He accompanied the mental words with churning hunger pangs as he glided to Arien's outstretched arm and folded his wings against his back. *Why don't we go over to the Golden Lion for supper?* At the expression on Arien's face, Darkfire blinked his jewellike eyes innocently.
    "You know that place is haunted to me," he said, seeing with memory's kind gaze a pair of nightblue eyes and a tumble of dark hair.
    He remembered their first meeting as clearly as if it had been only hours before. A pack of thieves, a dimly-lit alley, steel and blood and ice. He would have died that night had Cat not intervened. Shortly thereafter, they had met again, at the Inn of the Golden Lion. Thus they had set their feet on the path that ultimately led them across three kingdoms and through time, to challenge curses and beasts and even death itself.
    Seven years, since they had parted. Seven years, hardly worth mentioning in the long span of an elven life. Seven years, that had dragged by as if they'd been centuries.
    "We are going home," he said decisively, banishing thoughts of Cat from his mind. He had made his choice, and would in honor abide by it. The difficulties between himself and Alinora would pass. The elfmaid, his true love, needed time to become accustomed to many changes.
    Darkfire said nothing, but dragged himself to his customary perch on Arien's shoulder with a great show of reluctance.
    A brisk, cool wind swept down from the mountains as they descended the Library's wide steps. It stirred Arien's long silver hair, and made his cloak bell out behind him. Overhead, a nearly-full moon glimmered pale silver in the twilight sky. To the west, a crescent of darker moon was close to setting, as somber chants drifted from the temple of the Blackmoon Knights.
    All too soon, he reached the spacious Marshall House on the Third Ring. The sweet scent of spring flowers hung heavy in the air. The windows of the downstairs sitting room and Alinora's bedroom glowed. He would have once found the light welcoming, but now it filled him with resignation. 
    *Home sweet home,* intoned Darkfire in a mock death knell.
 Arien opened the door.

    Alinora held a rose-colored gown to her shoulders and surveyed her reflection. The soft satin brought color to her cheeks and made her hair glimmer like sunshine. A touch of perfume, perhaps the gold hair clips with the pink diamonds, the embroidered white gloves, and she would be fit for the highest ball. 
    She threw the gown across the bed. Why trouble herself? There were no balls in her immediate future. 
    She had no taste for the rough and stomping revels that these humans insisted were elegant. Even the infrequent dinner parties at the tower of Talus Yor stuck her as unforgivably uncivilized. She had closets full of beautiful clothes, and nowhere to wear them. 
    Did Arien think that by buying her all that she desired, he could make up for his stubborn refusal to return to the Emerin?
    Looking around her, she could see that he must think exactly that. The room was furnished exactly as she wanted. Perfumes and cosmetics overflowed the dressing table. She owned more and finer jewelry than she'd ever have occasion to wear. A glass-fronted cupboard was filled with expensive gifts and trinkets. 
    A beautiful room. A charming room. But she was no longer charmed. The luxury, the gifts, none of it could replace the loss of her family. 
    Downstairs, a door opened and shut. She paused, listening. It was the wrong day of the week for the women who came to clean the place.
    Soft footsteps. Not the stealthy sound a burglar might make, just someone with a normally light tread. Arien. 
    "Alinora?" he called.
    She thought of not answering, but it was too early for her to feign sleep, and he would know that she never left the house. Where would she go? Into the teeming throngs of humans? Such a thought was well- nigh laughable, had she the humor so to see it.
    "I am here," she said.
    Arien opened the door. He was alone, having at least left his loathsome lizard behind. "You are as fair as ever, my bright flower," he said with a smile that seemed as forced as hers felt. 
    "You've come home early," she said. "Are you ill?"
    "No. I came to speak with you." She saw sorrow in his silver eyes. "What has happened to us, Alinora? When did we start drifting apart?"
    "Arien..." she began, then faltered. What could she say that would not sound the ravings of a madwoman or the accusations of a petulant child?
    "Do you not feel it? When first we were reunited, it was a rare hour indeed that we were not together. Now, whole days pass in which I do not even see you. I recognize the fault as mine. I arise early to go to the Library, while you yet sleep. Often I return after you have retired."
    She would not meet his eyes.
    "If we at least shared a room, I would see you and be near to you though we slept. As it is now, I might as well be living alone." He took her hands in his. "You deserve more of my time than the Library, and to that end I shall come home early every night. We shall dine together, go out in the evenings ..."
    "The Library is important to you," she argued faintly.
    He touched her hair. She resisted the urge to pull away. "You are important to me. I lost you once before. I could not stand to lose you again."
    She shuddered at the memory. Lost her? Killed her, with his horrid curse. Killed her, revived her, left her to lay enspelled for a hundred years in her cold, cold tomb! And then, when it suited him, he'd come for her to install her as his mistress in this hated, filth-ridden human city.
    She said none of this, though the words pushed at the back of her lips. "If I am so important to you, why is it that you will not give me what I want?"
    He gestured around the room. "All that you wanted, I have given you," he said, sounding slightly wounded.
    "I want to go home! To see my family!"
    Arien closed his eyes. "We have discussed that," he said patiently. 
    "No, we have not." She was beginning to get angry again and this time did not stifle it. "Our discussions have consisted of my expressed wish to return to the Emerin, and your refusal, coupled with your shallow reasons."
    He opened his eyes and looked at her, surprised at the fire in her voice.
    "At first, you said that I needed time to recover. I have done so. Then you said it would be too difficult and painful for my family to accept. I do not agree. Far worse, that they go on mourning me needlessly! Such joy it would bring them to know I live!"
    "Alinora --"
    Well-bred elven ladies were not taught to interrupt, but she forgot her breeding for once. "Then you became Lord High Librarian, and the Library filled your days. It is one excuse after another, Arien, and I grow weary of them all! Why will you not take us home?" At the end of her tirade, she felt exhausted. 
    "Thanis is my home," he said. "It has been my home for far longer than I lived in the Emerin."
    "You could be a landholder, a member of the King's court. Instead, you are wasting your life in this dirty, ugly, human city." She flung a hand toward the window, beyond which lay Thanis.
    "You are not being reasonable," he said.
    She could make no sound but a small cry of frustration, throwing herself into a chair. He came to her swiftly and knelt. She read genuine concern in his handsome features. 
    "What is happening to us?" he asked desperately. "I love you, Alinora. Perhaps I do not say it as much as I ought, but it is true. I would not have gone through such effort to bring you back if I did not."
    It became clear to her with a suddenness that left her cold. "You do not love me," she said, holding up a slim hand to forestall his protests. "You love a ghost. You had a century to remember what you held most dear. In your memory, you made me a goddess. You love the ghost of the girl you remembered, when that is not who I am."
    "No," he breathed, kissing her hands. "I remembered you as fair and beautiful. Behold, you are! I remember grace and intelligence, both of which you possess. All that I remember, you are. All that I love, you are. I cannot believe it to be otherwise."
    "Yet, it is true," she insisted. "Just as I remember the youth, not the man you have become."
    He slowly raised his head. "Are you saying that you do not love me?" His voice was low.
    "I loved a young man. Overnight, or so it seemed to me, he was gone and replaced by a man grown, a man educated and cultured, put through trials of life that I had not shared. A charming, elegant, handsome man, but not a man that I knew. Ten years we knew each other, and ten times that passed when I knew you not. Seven years now have we lived together, and only now are we beginning to realize that neither of us is who the other remembers."
    "I am still Arien. You remain Alinora. Time has wrought changes upon us both; that I do not deny. Yet time we have in abundance. We have centuries to be together. How is it that in a few short years we are at risk of losing all that we have?"
    "You are not the Arien that I knew!" she cried, raising her voice more than she had ever done. "The youth that I knew, that I came to love though our marriage was arranged, that Arien wanted nothing more than to become an advisor to the King. Do you not remember our plans? Your birthright of Taefallon, the lands of Karadan, the further lands that my father would have given as dowry! The house we planned to build, the children we hoped to have! Now all of that is gone, dreams on the wind, faded like last year's leaves."
    "These things may yet be! Time we have and to spare. In the future, those dreams may well become reality."
    "How long?" she demanded. "How long until we can fulfill our dreams? How long must my parents bring roses to an empty tomb?" She began to cry softly, and her tears did what her anger couldn't.
    "Soon we shall return to the Emerin," he said heavily. She looked at him through a prism of tears. He met her gaze solemnly.
    "How soon?" she whispered.
    "A few more years. The Library--"
    "Years?" she interrupted. "A short time in the span of our lives, perhaps, but how short will it seem if I am ever yearning for the elvenwood? If we are already growing distant, what will happen after a few more years of bitterness?"
    "I had hoped we might put an end to the distance between us. It was to that end that I came home early tonight. It would be unwise to return to the Emerin before we have rediscovered our love." He kissed her hands again. "Perhaps we are not the same people we once were. Perhaps there is no hope. But I am willing to try. Are you?"
    Was she? Looking into the face of the man her beloved had become, she was still uncertain. Too much had happened for things to be the same between them. Loving him had brought evil into her life. She had died because of Arien. Arien and his curse. But she was still a daughter of House Elyvorrin, and as such she was bound by honor. 
    "Our families had an agreement," she said heavily. "For them, and for us, I also am willing to try."
    "The agreement," he mused. "Shall we, finally, marry?"
    Her blood chilled. No! she wanted to scream. "Not yet," she said instead. "Not until we return to the Emerin. I will not be married until I am surrounded by my family."
    "Agreed. It is fitting that we wed beneath the willows, as we planned."
    "Yes, of course," she said numbly. 
    "How grateful I am that we spoke," Arien said, apparently not noticing her discomfort. She had learned that he was often amazingly imperceptive to her mood. He trailed his fingers along the delicate line of her jaw, his eyes darkening with desire. 
    She turned her head away as he tried to kiss her, so that his lips found her cheek instead. He drew back, puzzled.
    "Arien, please..." she protested.
    "What is it?"
    "I...I..." 
    The words came easily to mind, but she could not give them voice. The first time she had welcomed him to her bed after her return, he had overwhelmed her with his tender skills, so different from their first, brief encounter in the elvenwood. Never had she known such sweetness, such passion.
    But one night, as she lay by his side, it occurred to her that he must have practiced those skills in the arms of other women. Even an elfkin, the unnatural crossbreed called Cat. The mere thought of such a thing nearly made her swoon in horror. Ever since, his touch seemed tainted. How could she welcome his touch when he had embraced an elfkin?
    Arien watched her as she struggled with her thoughts. Realizing there was no way to express herself without hurting him, she steeled herself and reached for him. He started to put his arms around her, then stopped.
    "No, beloved. It is not necessary. When the time is right, we will know." He kissed her hand and stood. For a long moment, he gazed at her as if memorizing her features. Her heart ached at the sight. His sorrow only made him more handsome.
    "Arien, wait," she began.
    The door chimes echoed through the house.

    Inwardly fuming, outwardly composed, Arien went downstairs. He and Alinora had been within an eyeblink of smoothing away all their differences, or at least so he had hoped. Now this, this untimely intrusion. He prepared a few choice words for whoever had such ill timing as to pay a visit now.
    All of which died unspoken on his lips as he swung wide the door to reveal two old friends that he had not seen in years. 
    The larger of them blotted out most of the Thanian night with his wide shoulders and imposing stature. His yellowish face was rugged, fearsome enough even without the tips of his short tusks jutting from behind his lower lip. The sword-shaped pendant of the god Steel rested on his thick chest. He glared at Arien from beneath coarse brows.
    "Hello, Arien," said the smaller of the two cheerfully. 
    "Greyquin, Alphonse," he replied, managing to sound despite his startlement as if he had been expecting them.
    Greyquin thrust out a hand, grinning broadly. Arien grasped it reflexively.
    "Going to invite us in, point-ears, or should we stand out here and freeze all night?" growled Alphonse.
    "Come in, my friends. My house is open to you." He stood back and let them pass. As they did, he could not help but see the changes the years had wrought.
    Alphonse, though still hale and hearty, was beginning to show the heritage of his father's short-lived people. His short black hair was going iron grey at the temples and there were lines around his eyes that had not been there the last time Arien had seen him, years before. His movements were as strong as ever, though, as he swung off his cloak and propped his shield against the wall. Emily, the five-headed flail with each ball shaped to resemble a gauntleted fist, he kept at his side.
    The changes in Greyquin were less dramatic. His battered leather jerkin might have been the same one he'd always worn. There might have been a touch more white in the salt-and pepper beard, but the biggest change was in his eyes. The gnome had the look of one who had been through hard times. His shadowed eyes spoke of sorrow and loss. Arien did not have to be a sage to guess one of the reasons. 
    "I am sorry about Bear," he said.
    Greyquin shrugged and hung up his cloak. "He was a good old dog, lived a good life. How'd you know?"
    Arien motioned to the empty doorway before closing the door. "His absence tells all."
    "Still got a mouthful of fancy talk, I see," said Alphonse, looking around the hall. His eye was caught by something on the stairs, and Arien turned to see Alinora, pale hands hovering like birds at the base of her throat as she stared wide-eyed at the visitors.
    "Arien ... ?" she said hesitantly.
    "My dear, allow me to introduce some old friends that you must have heard me speak of many a time. This is Greyquin of Gnome Keep, an adventurer of impeccable reputation -- " the gnome smothered a laugh " -- and Brother Alphonse of the Temple of Steel, one of the greatest hands with a flail it has been my privilege to see. Gentlemen, may I present Lady Alinora, daughter of Count Elyvorrin of the Emerin."
    Greyquin swept off an imaginary hat and bowed deeply. "And a fairer flower of the elvenwood has never graced the walls of this city."
    "So that's her," Alphonse muttered.
    Alinora smiled gently, having mastered her shock at coming face to face with an orckin. Her beauty took Arien's breath away. How long had it been since she had smiled at him that way?
    "Welcome, noble heroes, to our house. Many are the tales I have heard of your great deeds in the mountain castle of the north."
    "Noble heroes?" Greyquin laughed and shook his head. "Oh lady of light and mist, that may be our aspiration, but hardly have we reached it yet! That is what brings us to your gracious hall."
    "Will you accept our hospitality?" Alinora asked.
    "Gladly, fair one. First, I fear, there is a matter of some importance that we must discuss with the good wizard."
    "Perhaps you should retire to the study while I see to your rooms, then."
    "Fine. Which way?" snapped Alphonse.
    Arien was not puzzled by the orckin's animosity, though he was surprised by its depth. "Follow me," he said, leading the way to his favorite room in the house. 
    His study was his sanctuary at home, where he was surrounded by his books. The bookshelves were crammed to capacity with leather-bound tomes. 
    He waved to the deep, wing-backed leather chairs gathered around the fireplace. The spring night was chill enough to warrant a blaze, he reasoned, so he busied himself building one while Greyquin settled himself into a chair with a weary sigh and Alphonse went directly to the brass-fitted liquor cart. Though Arien rarely drank, and never anything stronger than wine, he kept a well-varied supply for his guests. 
    Alphonse filled a tall glass with strong dwarven rum and sat down, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. He set Emily on the floor beside him with a muted clank of chain. 
    Darkfire crawled from his nest on one of the topmost bookshelves, peering at the guests. *What brings them around?* he sent groggily.
    I am not certain, though I will doubtless find out in a few moments, Arien thought back.
    The drake glided easily to the hearth. *It's bad news. I can smell it on them.* He stretched his neck to look at Greyquin, who was looking back with an identical curious expression. The two had never met, though Darkfire had heard all about Arien's former companions.
    "This must be your familiar," the gnome said.
    "Yes. His name is Darkfire."
    *Darkfire Dragonwing Sharptooth Quickflight Weasel's-Bane Clevermind Windshadow Swan-chaser Snow-Hater Timeskimmer Nightmoon Blackgleam Whiptail Sweetsfond--* the drake sent imperiously. Arien mentally interrupted him.
    Yes, yes. It has been seven years since I spoke to Greyquin. I do not want to use the next seven introducing you.
    "Can I touch him?" Greyquin asked.
    "If he does not object."
    *I'd rather he fed me.*
    "He'd rather you fed him, he says. Beware, for if you do he will never give you a moment's peace."
    "Let me see. I've got some candied goldberries." He laughed. "Remember the time we got attacked by those wood hags, and your horse threw you in the goldberry bush?"
    Arien joined his laughter, shaking his head ruefully. "I finally had to resort to magic to clean the stains from that tunic."
    Alphonse glared into the fire.
    *What's wrong with Alphonse?* Darkfire sent, munching happily on his treat while Greyquin watched, grinning his habitual grin.
    He has never forgiven me for letting Cat go. They were friends long before I met either of them. I imagine he is fighting a compulsion to strike me.
 *I can understand that. I've never forgiven you either.*
    Though the drake's tone was light and bantering, Arien was stung. Cat and Darkfire had shared a special bond. For some mysterious reason, perhaps because she had been present at his summoning, she had become a part of the telepathic link between mage and familiar.
    He did not answer. On a deep level that he was afraid to examine, he knew that he had not even forgiven himself. He poured a glass of velvety wine and took his seat.
    "Let's get on with it," Alphonse said. "Tell him, Greyquin."
    "Is it bad news, then?" Arien asked, keeping his tone mild though a knot of unease twisted in his stomach. He though at once of Cat. If something had happened to her ...
    "It isn't bad news yet," Greyquin said, "but it has the potential to be. For Thanis, anyway. Do you remember Lord Marl?"
    "Yes, of course. One of my Junior Librarians has a brother who serves him as a mercenary. The night we dined at the Lord's Retreat, Cat overheard a conversation between him and Lord Taron. Marl sought Taron's aid , which Taron refused. Something about taking the city within a decade."
    "He's a little ahead of schedule," Greyquin said grimly.
    Alphonse nodded and fingered his sword pendant. "The bastard-pig has to be stopped before things really get bad."
    "What is this plan of his? I have heard of no armies being raised. How would he take the city if not by force of arms?"
    "And you're supposed to be the smart one." Alphonse snorted. "Think on it. Of course there's no army. There's no way an army could take this city unless they were a million strong. Marl's sneakier than that."
    "Then pray tell," Arien said, keeping his voice even, "what this plan of his entails, and what under the stars it has to do with us."
    "Let me," Greyquin said swiftly, as Alphonse opened his mouth to say something sharp. 
    "Go ahead. You found the arrow, you might as well shoot it."
    "Thanks." He turned to Arien, and all of his cheerful demeanor was gone. "Way back when, in the old days ..." he began.
    Arien smiled. The old days to him were a hundred years ago, not a mere seven.
    Greyquin continued. "Some of us swore a sacred pact to deal with Marl if his plan turned out to be a threat."
    "That isn't the way it happened at all," Alphonse said. "I was there, short one, and I remember how that talk really went. You were breathing dragon-fire to go after him, and drunk as a lord into the bargain. The rest of us knew it would take better than us to do the job."
    "But I said I had a feeling it would wind up in our laps," Greyquin protested. "Now, look. It has. You said you were in; are you changing your mind?"
    "Steel's sword, no. I'll crush Marl's head like a beetle. I just want to make sure you don't get too caught up in glory. Sacred pact, my arse."
    "Anyway, the point is, I know what Marl is up to. I've been spending the past five years trying to find out ..."
    "Oh, right, it will just fall into our laps, you said," Alphonse muttered. "Certainly, if you go out and look for it, drag it back by the hair, and throw it there."
    "And now I know," Greyquin went on, ignoring Alphonse. "I found out more than enough to put a good scare into me, and I've seen a lot in my life. From what I can see, Marl's plan will work unless someone can stop it."
    "You mean us," Arien said doubtfully.
    "Who else is there? We're all good at what we do. What would you rather I did, tell the Highlord? He'd call me a madman and throw me in the deepest dungeon."
    "Even if he believed you," said Alphonse, "there's not much he could do. The army would be useless. It would still take bold adventurers like us ..."
    "Adventurers? Is that what we are?" Arien smiled bitterly. "Selbon called us grave-robbers."
    "And if we do it without telling anyone," the gnome chimed in, "we spare the good citizens of Thanis a cartload of worry, and we come out as heroes."
    "You planned this yourself, didn't you, Greyquin?" Alphonse shook his head. "Wouldn't surprise me a bit. Never did get the notion of being famous out of your little head."
    "Let me see if I have properly understood," Arien said. He steepled his fingers under his chin and gazed thoughtfully into the fire. "Without warning the city of this possible danger, we are going to go... where? Off in the wilderness, somewhere, I imagine. Alone, to take on Marl ourselves. I know for a fact that he employs a company of mercenaries, if only as guards. We fight our way in and ruin his plan, which means we will probably need to kill him. Then we come back, tell our tale, and receive the heroic acclaim of the masses. The Highlord showers us with gifts and we retire to a life of endless wealth and luxury."
    "Sounds good to me," said Alphonse. "I wish it would be that easy."
    "Whereas, on the other hand, we might fail and perish, having told no one of our suspicions, leaving the good people of Thanis to suffer some dire unspecified fate," Arien added.
    "You're not far off, Arien. But Marl and his men aren't at the site. Marl's still here in Thanis. And there are some things I haven't told you yet," Greyquin said. "First, though, I need to know something. You weren't with us that night. You didn't swear a pact ... " seeing Alphonse's stern eye upon him, he hastily amended, " ... or even agree to a silly idea in drunken good faith. You aren't bound by it. You've got your life here, your work at the Library, your lady. But I'll be blunt. We need you. Each of us pulls a different wagon; together we make up a good caravan. We need your wits and your wizardry."
    "What for?" Alphonse tossed back the rest of his drink and refilled his glass, seemingly unaffected by the strong liquor. "I've got the power of Steel behind me now. Even against the elves, we should be..."
    "Elves?" Arien interrupted. "What elves?"
    "Sorcerers and warriors," Greyquin said. He looked significantly at Arien. "From the southernmost reaches of the Emerin."
    "The dark of the elvenwood," Arien whispered. "The Morvalan lands."
    "There's more," Greyquin said heavily. "I didn't want to bring it up until the three of us were together, because you're not going to like it."
    Alphonse turned slowly, full glass in hand, and looked down at the gnome. "What are you talking about?"
    Greyquin reached into a pouch and pulled out a small disc. "They've taken to using orcs as guards. I almost got caught, and had to kill one to escape. He was wearing this, on a cord around his neck." 
    The disc was about an inch and a half in diameter, enameled a deep red. A white symbol was painted on it. Two symbols, really, one inside the other. The outer symbol was the eight-sided design of Haarkon, god of the dead. The inner symbol was the outline of a horned head, the head of a bull, or a minotaur.
    "Livana Silvermoon," Arien breathed. "That could only be the mark of Solarrin."
    "Skin me, roast me, and gnaw my bones!" Alphonse swore. "He overcame Selbon! He's living in that castle like the Prince of Sweetberry Hill! And the misbegotten son of a troll is in on this?"
    Greyquin nodded. "I tried to hope it wasn't him, but it couldn't be anyone else. He's working with Marl, somehow."
    "Solarrin," Arien mused, his gaze falling upon the one shelf of books that had remained all this time untouched. Books bound in deepest red leather, decorated with chips of bone. "I am a wizard, true, but I must admit his skill far outmatches mine. Yet, I shall use them as best I can to put this evil business to an end. I will take your pact upon myself, Greyquin. I am with you."
    "Solarrin. I just don't believe it." Alphonse rounded on Arien, hands curled into fists. "You should have let me choke the little dung-clot when I had the chance. He was bad enough as a gnome, fat and crippled. Now, with the body of a minotaur, it would take all your magic and all my strength ..."
    Greyquin spread his hands and shrugged. "Exactly. You two need to work together, but I don't think either of you would follow the other. I've never been much of a leader. If this is going to stand a chance, there's only one thing to do. There's only one person who can make this succeed."
    Arien held his breath, knowing, but hardly daring to hope...
    "We need Cat," Greyquin finished.