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Previously, on Forsaken by Shadows, from Mazira’s point of view.
Styx announces we are home, and all my trepidation returns. I had finally gotten used to the company around me, and finally started to believe I could navigate it. But now we are about to enter a new unknown, and I am afraid again.
I can’t bring myself to rise when the others do, to go to the deck and view these Gates Belnir praises. Rismyn stops to wait for me. And then, when I finally work up the courage to stand, he does something terrible.
He tells me I’m beautiful.
Of all the people in the world to say those words to me, why did it have to be Rismyn? Rismyn, who made me love him once just to burn me with it later. Rismyn, who said he doesn’t love me but then treats me like he does. What am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to do? My heart is all tangled in knots, so I do the only thing I can; run.
I don’t make it far. Once I get to the deck, I realize I have nowhere to go. The river current has picked up and the priest, Solaurin joins us. He warns us not to panic, and then the ride is on. The boat bucks wildly and we’re forced to hunker down, and Rismyn, who I am still trying to avoid, holds me captive in his arms.
I know he’s just trying to keep me safe, but I still don’t know what to think about him, and being trapped against his body does not help with the thinking.
Although before our eyes, the boat appears to be sailing for a waterfall, we find ourselves magically transported over the edge and into safe waters.
We sail through the Gates, adorned with the statues of male and female drow, and find ourselves in a harbor, and I am shocked. Take away the cavern ceiling and this town could have existed on the surface. There is music and noise and so many familiar things that it rips at my heart.
When we dock, we disembark and I walk with Rismyn. I can tell he wants to take my hand, but I’m not ready yet. So I walk quickly and listen quietly as he converses with Beltel and Belnir, and then we’re there. On the street. And people are everywhere, gawking at us and calling out their blessings.
They want to know what happened, but Solaurin and Torafein send them off. They say our first report goes to the Reverend Mother. We part ways with the others and even lose Torafein when he catches sight of his family in the crowd.
Family. Not just a wife, but a daughter and apparently, a son, too. It’s so hard to wrap my head around; drow with a family they love. But if it is true, and I have seen it with my eyes, then this Sanctuary might actually be exactly what it claims…
~13. First Impressions~
The city of Launa–as Solaurin told them it was officially named–was nothing compared to Menzoberranzan. The streets were narrower by far, the buildings carved from limestone rather than the more durable igneous alternatives. Light abounded in every direction, reflecting off the desaturated sedimentary in blazing orange shades.
At best, this small community might have been scraped together in the lowest recesses of Menzoberranzan. It would have been the home of the least fortunate in the city, a sector Rismyn might have strolled through as a shortcut to somewhere more grandiose. A place he’d forget he’d been if asked about it later.
But that was before he’d sojourned in the Wilds for four months. Before the novelty of adventure had worn away and the strain of monotony had taken its toll. Before silence ate away at his nerves and darkness bled his sanity dry.
Compared to stone-cold chambers and echoing nothingness, the Sanctuary was magnificent.
An actual city, sculpted in dark elven fashions. Homes hewed from spires, lined with blue-toned faerie fire that warred with the orange glow. Columns that were too cumbersome to remove, so they were chiseled into elegant works of art instead. Rock walls bearing streaks of dolomite, chert, and in some places, the impression of bones from creatures long deceased.
There were street corners and city blocks and glorious, chaotic, civilization.
He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it.
And yet for every familiar turn of stone, the place was entirely alien, as well.
Strange designs sprouted between drow architecture like his mother’s exotic mineral imports. Fire lichen sizzled from open windows and fresh-baked sporebread wafted salivating aromas, but they were mingled with other scents. Fragrances Rismyn didn’t have words for.
But Mazira did. He could tell by the way tears sparkled in her eyes whenever something particularly strange and pungent hit them. Not out of disgust, as she’d shown for the tea, but rather a deep, undulating longing. He’d seen the same look every time she sang one of her surface songs for him. Not until he understood the longing in his own heart did he finally identify what he was seeing in hers.
He felt it again, walking these streets. He wanted to pull Mazira close and put his arms around her, like he’d seen Torafein do to his wife. He wanted to whisper into her hair that it was going to be okay, that they really had found somewhere safe to belong. She had nothing to fear and no reason to doubt. She need only look around for the proof.
For while dark elves walked these drow-carved streets, they were by no means the only creature living here.
There were elves of the surface, variations of the svirfneblin, round-eared humans, and creatures half as tall as a man with bare, furry feet. Rismyn swore he even caught sight of a humanoid-sized cat who walked on two legs and wore a heavy apron. But that was absurd, and when he looked again the creature was gone.
He tried not to stare at first, but the strangers had no such qualms. They gaped openly at Rismyn and Mazira both, whispers following in their wake. In the beginning, it was unnerving, but after the first quarter hour, Rismyn grew numb to it.
Besides, it wasn’t like anyone could actually do anything to them. Not a single person carried a weapon larger than a belt knife, if they carried a blade at all. And while someone could be just as dangerous with their hands as they were with their sword, Rismyn seriously doubted all of these people were that capable.
It was, so far as he was concerned, the very definition of suicidal. But he kept that thought to himself.
Solaurin moved them along at a leisurely pace, greeting all who hailed him with a polite acknowledgment while keeping up a stream of steady monologue in between. Facts, history, and any other tidbit the priest felt relevant washed over Rismyn like the river they left behind.
It was just too hard to focus on words when there was so much else going on. There was the music, the lights, and the noise of people being people. And worst of all, there were children.
Everywhere.
Laughing, running, chasing each other through the streets. Shrieking and singing and unfortunately sometimes both at once.
Rismyn couldn’t remember at what age he’d been taught to be silent and unseen unless summoned. He distinctly remembered, however, what happened when he disobeyed those expectations. The lashes were probably still etched on his back, though buried beneath a myriad of other sins he committed just by being born male.
These children were obviously not held to the same standard. Then again, there were hardly any elders around to mind them. The adults that were present were busy doing other things, like menial chores and gawking at Rismyn as they walked by.
This must be what Solaurin meant when he said children were never normal.
But while Rismyn fantasized about returning to the ever-silent Underdark just long enough to get the ringing out of his ears, he discovered children actually possessed one profound and redeeming quality; they made Mazira smile.
Her forced neutrality couldn’t withstand their silly antics. The more the children laughed and played around them, the softer her expression became. Her trembling ceased, her tension ebbed away. And before long, her lips twitched into one of her fleeting, genuine smiles. The kind he’d worked so hard for and never got enough of.
The children could scream all they wanted, he decided. So long as they made Mazira happy.
At some point, Torafein rejoined them. Rismyn hadn’t quite been paying attention when it happened, and only noticed because Solaurin’s never-ending discourse suddenly faltered. One moment, they were three. The next, Torafein was simply striding in step with them, as though he’d never left.
Except that he no longer carried his swords. Rismyn stared at his empty belt, trying to remember if he’d ever seen Torafein walk about unarmed. Was everyone in this city insane?
It was a question he was left to mull over in silence as Solaurin struck up a conversation with Torafein. They spoke in low voices, and though Rismyn probably could have eavesdropped if he made an effort, he didn’t try. His focus was divided in too many directions.
And then, at last, they turned a corner, and everything changed.
The constricted streets opened up onto an immaculate courtyard, and there, nestled in the center of it all, stood a gleaming black structure, the crown jewel of the city.
This could only be the temple they were seeking. Nothing less than a deity would be worthy of it. It stood as one structure, carved into a collection of squared towers capped with jagged spires. Arched windows of colored glass decorated its facade, and even from this distance, Rismyn recognized intricate relief work adorning the frames.
“This,” said Solaurin, with a grand gesture to all that was before them, “is our temple to Eilistraee. As I said, don’t try to take it all in at once.”
Rismyn could only nod as Solaurin nudged him forward. Two dozen columns of carved stone lined the pathway to the temple. Strings of golden lights zigzagged between the columns, washing out the orange light with a warm white. There were crystal gardens, mushroom gardens, even a fountain that bubbled forth sparkling water, feeding gardens of real, verdant plant life.
Among the different cloisters of mineral, stone, and fungi, lounged small, furry creatures, which looked enough like the big exotic felines from the surface that Rismyn knew they were house cats. The very creatures that Mazira had been mockingly named for. They regarded him with silent, unblinking stares, and he didn’t care for them. They only served to remind him of how much he hated his brother.
As the shock of the beauty wore away, Rismyn finally noticed the people. Unlike the cats, these had not jumped out at him as strange fixtures in the gardens, because for the first time since coming to Launa, he saw something that made sense. They were at a temple, and the temple was populated with drow women. And like proper drow, these women carried swords. Whether they wore elegant silks (in the most un-drowish colors), robes akin to the design Solaurin wore (with the same strange eye pattern), or glimmering armor (which reflected the light in dangerous ways), every one of them was adorned with a killing blade.
The women regarded their party with the same unmoving stares as the cats and made him just as uncomfortable. But unlike the people of the city, these Songblades, as Rismyn assumed they were, focused their unnerving stares on Solaurin. A few sly smiles touched their lips, and whispers hid behind hands.
Lest Rismyn think he was imagining it, Solaurin stiffened his posture, standing a little taller as he swept before them toward the temple.
They reached the stairway that led to the massive double doors, which were open and inviting. On either side of the doors, however, stood an armored woman with a sword in hand. It must have been normal though, for neither Torafein nor Solaurin slowed their pace.
Just as they reached the top of the stairs, one of the women spoke.
“Mother is expecting you, Solaurin,” she said, without taking her eyes off of the courtyard. A shadow of a smile graced her lips.
“She’s been cursing your name all cycle,” the other woman added, in a high, airy voice. This one wasn’t shy about her grin. “The council has already gathered. Good luck, Songbrother.”
“Marvelous,” Solaurin said, as dry as the stone at their feet. Then, with more feeling, he added, “Thank you.”
The women flourished their blades and then bowed low, as though inviting them into the temple. Mazira tugged him a little closer as they passed between the shining weapons clasped in black drow hands, a drop of sweat beading on her forehead.
It’s going to be okay, Rismyn wanted to say, before realizing with a jolt that he wasn’t so sure of that himself. As a boy, he’d been taught Lolth was always watching him through the eyes of her spiders. He didn’t know what creature this Eilistraee used as her eyes–cats, maybe, judging by their continual presence– but the moment they crossed the threshold into her temple, he felt the weight of her presence like a mantle of lead.
Or at least, he assumed it was her presence. But just because they were in her house didn’t mean she was home. For all he knew, she wandered about like Lolth, catering to her more faithful followers and leaving the rest to beg and scrape. The weight he was feeling could merely be his own trepidation of the unknown. A feeling that only amplified as the thick aroma of incense and candlewax hit him like a gut punch.
All at once, he was a little boy again, watching hearts get carved on an altar, fearing his would be next. Rismyn went numb, his heart pounding in his head like the drums of Lolth’s faithful.
This was a bad idea. He and Mazira should have stayed in the Dark.
Solaurin’s voice cut through the moment. “Really, all cycle.” He huffed. “I haven’t even been here. What has she to curse at while I’m away?”
“I can’t imagine,” Torafein said, in a way that suggested otherwise.
Solaurin shot him a scathing look and swept forward. “This was as much your scheme as mine. She could at least curse your name, as well.”
“Oh, I assure you, I have.”
The voice that spoke was rich and feminine, echoing off the walls of the vaulted vestibule.
Rismyn tensed, glancing around for the source of the voice. The room they had entered was large and round, with three arched doorways leading out, aside from the double doors behind them. Ribbed columns carved from the black stone walls stretched to the ceiling, connecting together in a single point high above their heads, where violet faerie fire danced around a chandelier of crystal.
At the center of the vestibule was a round stone basin, filled to the brim with clear water. Beyond the basin, entering through the door straight ahead of them, was a woman who must have been the one to speak.
If Rismyn had taken time to try and conjure an image of a “Reverend Mother,” she would have looked exactly as this woman appeared. Tall and lithe, the woman exuded regal authority. She wore a gown of scarlet dripping with silver beadwork. A jeweled headdress rested upon her loose, rolling waves of white hair, the metal filigree branching away from her face like lightning bolts frozen in time. Gold paint lined and dotted her crimson eyes, and a thick swath of it was painted down the center of her dark, full lips.
She was otherworldly, and she wore a scowl that made Rismyn quiver.
The woman strode forward until she reached the rim of the basin, placing her hands on the stone as she looked them each up and down. “And I have cursed the name of the Do’ar twins, and Lina, and the Rivermaster greedy enough to take your gold and sail you out into the Wilds. And if you must know why it is because I do not appreciate being made to worry over my recalcitrant children.”
Solaurin and Torafein moved in unison, placing hands to heart and dipping low.
“You grace us with your presence, Mother Lara,” Solaurin said. “And might I add, you are looking resplendent this cycle.”
Mother Lara raised a perfectly arched brow. “Save your flattery, Songbrother. I am still cross with you.”
Despite her stern expression, Solaurin’s lips twitched as though he wanted to smile. He rose before the woman bid him rise, which would have earned Rismyn a smack with a whip from his mother had he done so in her presence, and ran a hand over the thick braid that hung over his shoulder.
“I would apologize, dear Mother, but I am afraid I cannot. As you can see, the Dark Maiden has blessed our hunt.”
Beside him, Torafein shifted, and if Rismyn didn’t know him better, he would have thought it was out of concern. But nothing moved Torafein, not even dragon turtles.
Emmalara tapped her lacquered nails on the rim of the basin. “So I have seen, and so I have heard, though not for lack of trying. I am well aware you will not be returning my diamonds to Eilistraee’s treasury, and that Belnir Do’ar is limping home in dire need of a new suit of adamantine. Be glad that I do worry, for had I not scried so much on your adventure, I would not have seen Mendroktovin in time to send Satara to your aid.”
“I assure you, we are most gracious,” Solaurin said, with another bow. “I will see that the diamonds are replaced.”
The woman heaved a heavy sigh, her shoulders relaxing. “You know that is the least of my concern,” she said. “Your exploits proved as dangerous and deadly as I feared, and I do not deny that I regretted allowing you to go at all.”
Solaurin frowned, opening his mouth to say something else, but the woman raised a hand and silenced him.
“Yet,” she continued, “I have never, in all my life, been more pleased to be proven wrong.” Her eyes flicked to Rismyn, then to Mazira, then to their joined hands. Her stone expression blossomed into a radiant smile before she returned her attention to Solaurin. “May the Dark Maiden reward your obstinacy so I don’t have to.”
Solaurin’s smile was all self-satisfaction. Another expression that would have earned Rismyn a beating. “You honor us with your praise,” he said, only a touch sarcastically. “May I present our new Voices?”
“Not yet. The Council is waiting. Unless you desire a moment to recover yourselves first?”
Once more, her gaze fell on Rismyn and Mazira, as did Torafein’s and Solaurin’s. As though the decision was theirs to make, and not the Matron–sorry, Reverend–Mother’s.
Feeling pinned to the wall, Rismyn shrugged. He wasn’t sure his voice followed him into the temple.
“Let us just move on to the Council,” Solaurin offered. “We may take a proper rest when it is done.”
Mother Lara nodded. “This way, then.”
She left the vestibule through the same door she had come in through, and Solaurin gestured for them to follow. He himself stayed at the basin of water, dipping two fingers into the liquid and then pressing them to his forehead. Rismyn didn’t catch the words he murmured, but they sounded Elvish. He hastened to follow Torafein into the next room.
Having grown up in a religious home, Rismyn was fairly used to the layout of a house of worship, so he knew exactly what chamber they had just entered, even without the spider-shaped altar at the front of the room. Or any altar, for that matter.
Yet this was most certainly the sanctuary of the temple. Cavernous and round, there were rows upon rows of stone benches all angled towards a central focal point: a towering statue of a woman clad only in her ankle-length hair. The detail was so fine and perfect Rismyn averted his gaze, fearing the image of this supposed goddess might spring to life and step right off the pedestal and punish him for…well, for anything, really. Whatever whim or fancy struck her to punish him for, as the gods were oft to do. He had seen enough of her alluring marble features to recognize a likeness to the idols of Lolth.
He only looked again because Mazira suddenly tugged on his hand.
“Rismyn!” she whispered, and there was urgency in her voice.
He glanced at her then followed her wide-eyed gaze back to the face of the statue, fearing he was right about it coming to life. But the goddess stayed stiff and still, merely an image made of the deity she represented.
“I’ve seen her before,” Mazira said.
There was reverence in her voice that sent chills down Rismyn’s spine. Rismyn dropped his gaze to the feet of the idol, where a real, living woman sat strumming a series of strings stretched taut between a wooden frame. Each pluck sent a note of shimmering beauty throughout the chamber. Music, unlike anything he’d heard before, but it did little to quiet his nerves.
“What do you mean?” he asked, daring to look again. Well, the statue did look like Lolth, and Mazira had spent an awful lot of time polishing idols at House Tear to know it.
“I can’t explain it, I just…I just know her.”
And then she suddenly squeaked, her cry cutting sharply through the music and incense. Emmalara and Torafein spun, and Rismyn’s hand reached instinctively for weapons he didn’t carry, but there were no monsters or demon-goddesses leaping from the shadows.
There was only a grey cat, which had sprung up onto the bench they were passing.
Mazira stood with her hand clutched to her heart, staring at the beast with wide, startled eyes, her chest heaving. When she realized everyone was staring at her, her face burned as red as Mother Lara’s dress and tears sparkled in her eyes.
“I’m sorry. It just…it just startled me.” She buried her face in her hands.
“It’s quite alright, child,” Solaurin said, standing just behind them. “They do have a bad habit of appearing out of nowhere, but you’ll get used to it. Cats are sacred to Eilistraee.”
The cat, oblivious to the distress it caused, made a rumbling sound in its throat and reared back on its hind legs, pawing for Mazira.
“But that’s no excuse,” Mother Lara said sharply, and for an enraging second Rismyn thought she was talking to Mazira. He whipped his head in her direction, ready to lash out no matter how powerful of a Matron she was, only to find her glowering at the cat. “Silverpaw, you should apologize for scaring our guest.”
Silverpaw? The animal had a name?
The cat merely rolled onto its back, its rumbling growing so loud Rismyn thought the whole creature was vibrating. It kept its luminous eyes on Mazira and made a strange little chirping sound.
Mazira peered at it through her fingers and to Rismyn’s grudging delight, she smiled at it. The tiny monstrosity didn’t deserve it.
“May I…touch it?” she asked, a question which surprised Rismyn more than the initial outburst. Both that she asked it at all and that she desired to touch it. The thing probably had diseases.
“I think she would enjoy that,” Mother Lara said. “I believe she is asking to be held.”
To Rismyn’s abject horror, Mazira reached out and scooped the creature into her arms, and it rumbled all the more, rubbing its face against hers. Mazira’s smile grew wider, and she glanced at Rismyn as though wanting to share the joy with him.
“She’ll stay with you as long as you want her,” Mother Lara said, saving Rismyn from having to feign a smile. She turned and continued down the aisle towards the statue, and they all went along, with Mazira still holding the cat and rubbing its ears.
Which meant she no longer had a hand free to hold Rismyn’s. Was it petty to be jealous of a cat? Probably. But that didn’t stop him from seething quietly.
They passed under the shadow of the statue, passed the woman who strummed her instrument, and moved towards another pointed archway to the left of the idol. Rismyn held his breath until they were through the door, thankful to be away from the oppressive reverence.
Yet this new room gave no relief to his nerves. It was another vaulted chamber, though significantly smaller than the ones he had been led through previously. Lit sconces along the wall illuminated the dark almost painfully, forcing him to squint to see the rest.
They had come into a meeting hall, and they were no longer alone. Two long tables stretched before him, flanking a simple yet elegant arched throne. The table to his right was full, with six people staring curiously in his direction. The other table held five and an empty seat. Behind the table was a wall of gallery seating, in which a dozen more people sat. The murmur of conversation hushed when they entered, and everyone rose to their feet at once.
They followed Emmalara to the center of the room, then Solaurin placed a hand on Rismyn’s shoulder to halt him there. The Reverend Mother continued on, and stood before the throne, turning to face them.
“Friends,” she called, addressing the room at large, “We’ve gathered to witness the receiving of new Voices into our Song. Let us lift our voices to Eilistraee for her wisdom in these matters.”
Then, she closed her eyes and began to sing. All around them, voices joined her, raising a lyrical prayer in Elvish to the goddess Rismyn had been glad to avoid. He fidgeted, trying to look anywhere but at someone directly, wishing this ritual would end.
Solaurin’s voice joined in right away, which was no real shock. But when Torafein’s low growl caught up the words, Rismyn had to work hard to keep his jaw from hitting the floor.
He’d said everyone sang. He didn’t say he sang.
Finally, the prayer ended. Mother Lara took her seat and there was a rustling as the others followed suit.
“Now then,” the Reverend Mother said, “Let us commence. Brother Zovarr, will you be taking your seat on the Council?”
Solaurin stepped forward. “Given the nature of this event, and my personal bias involved, I choose to stand before the Council as a servant of Eilistraee and nothing more.”
He was on the Council? Well, that did surprise Rismyn. In fact, now that he looked, he saw what he hadn’t seen before. Half the Council members, assuming that was who the people at the tables were and Solaurin were to be counted among them, were male. The females only held the majority if Mother Lara was counted among them.
What strange place had they come to?
Emmalara’s expression remained neutral. “You understand, of course, that by ceding your seat for this meeting your voice will not be counted should a vote be called for?”
“I understand,” Solaurin replied.
“Good. Then proceed with the trial.”
Trial? Rismyn shot Solaurin a sideways glance, but the priest wasn’t looking at him. He glanced at Torafein next, who gave him an almost imperceptible shake of the head.
Don’t react.
Sure. Fine. But no one said anything about a trial.
Beside him, Mazira was tension and unease, her arms still curled around the cat. The creature was no longer rumbling, but watching the Council with ears flicked forward as if interested in the proceedings.
“Council and Conductors,” Solaurin began, all congenial formality, “As you know, I set out on a journey three cycles ago with the company of Torafein Xarrin and the Do’ar family. I was prompted by a vision received by our goddess as I tended to the chapel during my shift of worship.”
There were nods among the watchers as if this was all old news to them.
“Based on the description given to us by Torafein when he returned from his Tour, I believed the woman in my vision to be the lost captive of House Tear. With the”–he hesitated, raising an eyebrow at Emmalara–“blessing of our Reverend Mother we set out to see if there was any substance to my vision.”
Emmalara narrowed her eyes ever so slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.
“As I stand before you now, I am pleased to present to you the fruit of our efforts.” Solaurin stepped back and gestured to Rismyn and Mazira. “This is Rismyn, second son of House Tear, fifth house of Menzoberranzan, now fugitive of the city.”
Though the attention was mortifying, Rismyn wasn’t at all displeased by his introduction. Fugitive of Menzoberranzan had a nice ring to it. Like a badge of honor.
“And this,” Solaurin’s tone took on a grandiose nature, “is the young woman who called to me. Mazira Zylvaris, of Faerûn. I have witnessed with my own eyes–she has been called by Eilistraee to touch the Weave.”
The statement sent a ripple of murmurs through the gathered crowd, and some craned to get a better look at them. Even Emmalara leaned forward with interest.
“Is this true?” she said, addressing her question to Torafein.
“I am not skilled in the knowledge of the Arcane,” Torafein replied. “However, someone cast magic while our cleric was busy with other spells. If Solaurin says it, I believe him.”
That was apparently good enough. Emmalara leaned back. “How wonderful. Eilistraee grants so few the magic of the Weave. You have been given a precious gift, child, and we are honored by your presence.”
Mazira trembled at his side, holding the cat a little tighter. It rumbled again and rubbed her face with its own, as though telling her it was all okay. The very words Rismyn wanted to say.
This cat needed to go.
But Rismyn seemed to be the only one who felt that way. Mother Lara raised her hand and silence fell once more. “Tell us of your journey. We are all curious to know the details of what transpired.”
At this, Solaurin stepped back and Torafein stepped forward. The commander recited the account of their travels in succinct anecdotes; a perfect military report. He left nothing out and added no commentary. It was simply the facts.
Emmalara’s face did not betray any expression, though not everyone remained so calm. Several gasped in shock when Torafein told of the dragon turtle’s attack, and even more when he got to the part where Belnir died.
When he revealed that Belnir had been revived, several called out congratulatory remarks to Solaurin for the part he played in the resurrection. The priest, who had seemed so unflappable, shifted awkwardly and deferred all praise to Eilistraee.
And then Torafein was finished, stepping back beside Rismyn.
Mother Lara contemplated them for a moment, her nails tapping the arm of her throne. “The Maiden’s mother fights hard for you,” she said, finally, a phrase that Rismyn didn’t understand. She looked and sounded troubled, and there was a collective hiss from the audience. Then, she shook the expression away and straightened.
“You were injured when you were found,” she said, her gaze fixed on Rismyn. “Why?”
The blunt question caught him off guard. Rismyn hadn’t expected to be addressed at all, after so long of not being required to give an answer to anything. He glanced around nervously, but only found expectant eyes on him.
“My brother,” he said at last. He wasn’t sure where to anchor his eyes. “He had tracked us and attacked.”
“And you defeated him?” Mother Lara pressed.
“No. I–we only escaped because of Mazira’s magic.”
Again, the murmurs rippled through the gallery. At his side, Mazira leaned closer, their arms brushing, as though she were lending him strength.
It was enough. “We were on a ledge,” he added, to fill the silence. “And we jumped into a river. I lost consciousness but Mazira was awake. She kept us alive and hid us in the cavern where we were eventually found. I don’t know what became of Tolo–of him.”
“I see,” Mother Lara said, and her expression was troubled again. “And what do you regret about leaving home?”
“What?” Rismyn stiffened, unsure that heard the question right. He glanced sidelong at Torafein but found no help from him this time. Solaurin’s expression remained just as impassive.
No one spoke. No one seemed to breathe, as though they were all collectively waiting on his answer. Rismyn’s fingers twitched for the hilt of a blade he didn’t actually possess. It was a nervous tick, and he idly wondered how long it would be until he could rearm himself. But now he was letting his mind wander, to avoid the question, and Mother Lara was still waiting for an answer.
He took a breath, thinking of the long ever-nights of hunger and thirst, the constant fatigue and fear, the fights with Mazira and the goblins who raided them. Toloruel’s attack, the agonizing pain of hitting the river. Everything about his sojourn in the Underdark had been misery. He’d hated every moment, and longed for the surface above with every breath.
But as he stood there, contemplating, he couldn’t think of a single regret her held. Save for one.
“The only thing I regret about leaving home is not doing so sooner.”
The collective breath released, and Emmalara actually smiled.
“Well spoken,” she said, and Rismyn hated that her comment pleased him. She turned to the men and women on her right and left. “Well, I think I’ve heard enough. Your stories and the testimony of your Guide have already been made known to us and do not bear repeating. Council, do you have any questions for the candidates?”
Heads shook and voices muttered some variation of “no”.
“Then let us appoint Conductors and conclude this trial.”
Rismyn breathed his own sigh of relief. He had passed the test he didn’t know he was taking. Mazira’s smallest finger looped around his, and he glanced at her, surprised. The cat had somehow managed to drape itself around her shoulders, like a live fur collar, rumbling loudly again. He had to admit, it was kind of a pleasant, comforting sound.
He squeezed her finger and focused forward, waiting for the pronouncement of his future.
“I will not ask who shall stand for Rismyn and Mazira,” Emmalara declared, a statement that sent whispers cascading around the gallery. “That is normally our custom, but this circumstance is unique. Instead, I have already decided who I shall appoint. Solaurin, will you accept the honor of Conducting these new Voices into our Song?”
“Me?” Solaurin blinked, looking around as if surprised to be noticed. “But I’m not qualified–”
“On the contrary, I think you are more than up to the task.” Mother Lara leaned back in her chair, her eyes glinting. “You’ve raised your daughter into a fine young lady and you counsel more of our citizens than any of our other Songblades. And, as you have reminded us, Eilistraee gave you the vision.”
For once, the priest seemed to have nothing to say. He gazed around at the faces of the watchers, which showed a growing amount of approval. He glanced at Rismyn, then at Mazira, and then at the cat who draped around her shoulders. It, too, seemed to be spurring him on, urging him to make his choice.
Finally, he nodded, stepping forward and bowing his head. “As the Dark Maiden leads, so I will follow. I accept the honor.”
Disclaimer: Forsaken by Shadows is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.
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