Disclaimer: Umm... er... Hey look! A kitty!

--)--------

Kaeldin felt the wards of Kraanfhoar shift slightly and looked up from the treatise on psionic manipulation of weave magic. He had been working on it since Mirandaline first showed that she could in fact play with workings already in motion. He had been both shocked and delighted with Faenllach's news that the young elf had managed to escape the Plane of Shadow to the Prime Material Plane. Lilleen had been practically skipping since they received the report.

She believes that there is a chance for us as long as a student of ours is alive and kicking on the Material plane, He thought with a smile. I agree with her. I am so tired...

The mythal twitched again, stronger this time. Frowning, the sylvan elf mage got up from his writing desk on the Arvandor side of Kraanfhoar and went to look in the hallway. He almost collided with the dark elf in a nondescript grey cloak and leathers running headlong down the hall. Breathlessly, the shorter elf said, “Oh good, there you are. Grab something resembling a weapon and follow me.”

“What is it?” Kaeldin asked puzzled. “Something is rocking the mythal...”

“They've got little Mir,” the dark elf said urgently. “The drow-dragons have her and they're heading this way. They've got those human kin she's been running with too.”

The mage felt his confusion melt in an instant, to be replaced with cold fury. He turned back to the study and tapped the top of his desk. A hidden compartment popped open with a rusty squeal and Kaeldin retrieved the four wands inside. He strode to his wardrobe and kicked the bottom drawer. The front of the drawer fell off and the high mage retrieved the heavily enchanted robe that came partially out as well. “Before we go, I have seen you before, have I not?” he commented to the plain dark elf, “Watching young Mir's weapon practices? You are from the Arvandor side.”

The dark elf nodded as he tied a black scarf over his pale white hair, “I'm Bhindax. Can we hurry?”

Kaeldin nodded back and followed the short dark elf out into Kraanfhoar's halls. “You know where they are?” he asked.

Bhindax paused at one corner and Kaeldin caught a faint whiff of minerals and damp emanating from the nondescript black skinned elf. Bhindax looked back at the sylvan elf and said, “They're heading for the turnstile.”

Another psion? Kaeldin thought, curious. He buried the stray thought underneath grim determination. “No one molests an apprentice of mine, not if I can do something about it.”

“I should have talked to you months ago,” Bhindax grinned, “I share the exact sentiment. Amaria's watching the front, by the way. If anyone who looks like those bastards comes out, they are going to wish Lolth had caught them instead of little Mir's mother.”

They jogged through the halls until they reached the one containing the planar shifter. Kaeldin took a moment to cast a few protection spells on himself and internally grumbled that he was woefully unprepared for a hostile confrontation. At least since Mir started manipulating lightning, I've had a few of those spells on hand at all times.

Bhindax stopped just outside the turnstile hallway and held a finger to his lips for silence. Kaeldin nodded and stood outside the hallway as well. The selu'taar felt the mythal vibrate again and suddenly realized that no other student had ever gotten so close to returning. I do not know what will happen, he thought with some trepidation.

The mythal shuddered once more and Kaeldin felt the swirling weightlessness of a teleport spell start to engulf him unexpectedly. He managed a grunt of surprise and saw Bhindax turn and look back at him with a stunned expression on his dark face. The teleport took him away to face a carved stone with silvery light emanating from the lines of the carving. Frustrated, he kicked at the carving. It remained solid stone and did not assume transparency as it was supposed to do for new students.

The sylvan elf backed up to get a better look at it and bumped into something solid. He turned, let his eyes adjust to the change from light to dark and realized that the barrier was transparent. A quick mental inventory told him that he was still within the bounds of Kraanfhoar's mythal.

By the light cast from the carvings, Kaeldin could see three bound and gagged elves sitting on the stone tunnel's floor with five very surprised looking drow standing guard over them. One of the drow squinting into the light had scaled ridges along his eyebrows. Dragon blooded drow here with Tel'Quessir as captives and I can't seem to get near enough to help young Mir... he thought with angry frustration before facing the scaly drow with a cold glare and colder voice, “You irinal dhaerow Illythiiri scum. You will not harm my apprentice or her allies while I can do something about it.”

The dragon blooded drow stared at the mage for a moment in shock before starting to weave his hands through a spell to conjure missiles of force. The drow-dragon moved too late. With the speed of thought, Kaeldin tripped one of the mythal defenses to make it solid against magical attacks and began to cast the most powerful of the lightning spells he had at his disposal, again drawing on the mythal to make the spell more powerful. A bright blaze of lightning shot from the selu'taar's hands and caught the scaly drow in the chest before proceeding on through each of the marauders with a loud crackle of static and a whiff of charred meat.

When his vision readjusted to the dim light cast by the softly glowing carvings, Kaeldin saw two bodies and three scattered piles of ash remaining of the drow. The captive elves looked back at him with eyes wide with fear. Kaeldin kicked at the mythal barrier again and found it just as solid to him as it had been before. Sighing, he asked, “Did I get them all or is one of the outcasts hiding around the corner?”

One of the elves nodded and scooted out from the corridor wall. The bound wood elf fell over and slipped his bound hands under his legs then sat up. Kaeldin cast a simple cantrip and began to undo the strange pale elf's bonds with a pair of glowing hands as the wood elf picked at his bindings. As soon as the blond male elf was loose, he started on the female sun elf's ropes.

The wood elf finally wriggled free and finished untying his friends. “You're one of the Miyeritari high mages?” the wood elf asked urgently. Kaeldin nodded and the wood elf continued, “What happened to Mir?”

“That traitor?” The pale blond elf's voice rose as he started to launch into a tirade, “She...”

“She was trying to lead them into a trap, Nesterin. Shut up,” The wood elf cut in. “What happened to my cousin?”

“Young Mir?” Kaeldin asked.

The honey haired wood elf nodded, “I'm Heinfor Sparrowhawk.”

“I do not know what happened to her,” Kaeldin admitted. “I was on my way to deal with the dhaerow holding her when something happened and I ended up here.”

“Can't you come away from the door?” The sun elf asked. “I'm Filsaelene.”

“No,” The mage shook his head and sat down. “I am bound to the citadel...”

Kaeldin broke off as an unexpected coldness washed over him head to foot. He shut his eyes and clutched at his head. A wave of dizziness followed in its wake and the sylvan elf felt something pulled away from him. He gasped with the loss for a second or two before new senses came trickling slowly in to replace what was lost. Three points of concern and worry hovered near him, one still had hot sparks of confused anger about them. The mage groaned with the sudden influx of emotions not his own. He slumped over on his side and spent a few minutes trying to sort out his feelings from those of the three other elves nearby.

When he gathered himself back together, he found Heinfor, Nesterin and Filsaelene kneeling over him, all with worry plainly written over them inside and out. Kaeldin also noticed that he was lying down some distance away from the door and that he had no memory of how he got there. “You were having some sort of shaking fit,” The golden haired female said gently, “Then it looked like you were pushed away from the door somehow...”

“What?” Kaeldin sat up. Sure enough, the portal was a good twenty feet from him, much farther than he remembered running into the magical barrier a few minutes ago. Am I no longer bound to Kraanfhoar?

“Today just keeps becoming more interesting...” The mage sighed as he got up and looked at the portal carving again. “'Mistress of dawn to spread the light of knowledge?' Corellon's blade, what is going on in there?”

“I don't know...” Nesterin began in a confused tone. A wisp of silvery mist crept out from the carvings and snaked towards the four elves. It became elf shaped, gained some color and Lilleen stood translucently before them in her favorite blue dress with her slivery white hair softly knotted behind her head.

“Lilleen, what is going on?” Kaeldin asked impatiently.

“I do not know.” The dark elven lore mistress paced back and forth in agitation, leaving wisps of spirit stuff in her wake. “None of our circle could get in.”

“Aleseil Seldarie,” Heinfor breathed. “No help for our people on the other side of that thing?”

“Before I left to find you, Mithias and six others he knows were running into the tower,” Lilleen said in a reassuring voice. “Every eladrin in the area will likely try to get in on it too.”

Kaeldin could feel the tension rising off the spirit, like heat off a kettle. “Lilleen, do you feel any different?” he asked.

“Not really, I am still bound to the citadel,” She answered. “Why do you...” The dark elven loremistress broke off and seemed to take a mental inventory. Lilleen looked at the sylvan elf mage carefully, “Your eyes look normal...”

“They have a tendency to change color slowly,” Kaeldin waved it away.

“They are the brown they were before the rite of transformation,” Lilleen insisted. “And you seem different... more here.”

The sylvan elf mage blinked before realizing exactly what his fellow mage meant. “The telmiirkara neshyrr reversed?” he breathed. “I have been released from service?”

“I believe so,” Lilleen nodded. “I will not know for certain until I can get back in and see what is going on... Actually, I believe I can do so now. I will return with news as soon as I am able.” The spirit quickly dissolved into nothingness, leaving Kaeldin with Heinfor, Filsaelene and Nesterin.

"Now what?" Nesterin asked bewildered. Kaeldin supposed that the change in pace and perception of who was friend and foe had left the poor boy a little off balance.

"That's easy," Heinfor said firmly, "We wait for the others to come out or Lady Lilleen to tell us it isn't worthwhlie to wait."

Filsaelene looked at Kaeldin and asked, "How likely do you think that Maresa and the others will come back through?"

"Considering that this has never happened before," Kaeldin rubbed his hands over his face, "I do not know. I imagine that young Mir is the new keeper of the Citadel, but I am not sure if the particulars of the job have changed."

Heinfor narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by 'particulars'?"

"She may have to strike a bargain..." The mage began seriously, but the scout's laughter cut him off.

"If there's bargaining involved, then I'm going to stop worrying," Heinfor chuckled as he turned to rummaging around in his pack for something. "The daughter of a fur trader operating out of Whizban? I don't think we have to worry too much."

Kaeldin saw Heinfor's hands shake ever so slightly and could feel a shimmer of tension from the younger elf. The mage decided not to mention it and settled down to wait for Lilleen's return. Heinfor pulled a small brazier from his pack and set to lighting it. Its warm orange glow made the stone passage seem cozy and chased the shadows away from them. If I am released from duty, why am I not in Arvandor? he wondered. I would have thought that I would end up there instead of here...

A wave of wordless longing trickled into the high mage's mind. What is going on now? Kaeldin wondered irritably. The feeling crashed into him with the force of a storm surge. He focused on the ground under his knees as his vision tunneled and the sensation became almost melodic. A warm spark radiating concern came near and took hold of his shoulder. The sylvan elf focused on the spark and used it as an anchor to keep himself from drifting away with the hypnotic melody.

The mental song faded and left Kaeldin breathing hard. He looked to see who gripped his shoulder and found the priestess, Filsaelene, looking at him with concern. “Are you all right?” she asked.

The selu'taar shook his head, “I do not know.” Pulling me away from here... Arvandor's call perhaps? How old am I anyway?

A familiar and strange tingle and the back of Kaeldin's mind jarred him out of his bewildered confusion. A moment later Lilleen swirled out of the shadows, her transparent form glowing with joy.

“She did it!” The lorekeeper danced around the elves. “She managed to keep herself!”

“No telmiirkara neshyrr?” Kaeldin asked in happy astonishment. “That's the best news since... since...”

“It has been too long since,” Lilleen laughed.

“So, when are our friends getting out?” Heinfor asked hopefully.

“A week or two,” the loremistress said. “The wards need to recover before she bends them again.”

Kaeldin gaped. “She will be able to leave the citadel?”

Heinfor laughed, “I told you they didn't count on a Whizban trader negotiating with them. Should we wait for them or...?”

“They are going to need you to go to Evereska and talk to the same mage young Mir met when she was there last,” Lilleen said excitedly. “There might be more of those dragon-kin prowling around the city.”

“One more thing,” Kaeldin switched into Seldruin, “How old am I, Lilleen?”

The loremistress nibbled at her lip for a moment before answering, “Thou art three thousand one hundred seventy two years of age, my friend.”

“I hear Arvandor's call, circle sister,” Kaeldin said heavily.

“Thine apprentice needs thee for a little while yet,” Lilleen replied gently.

“I know.” The sylvan elf mage heaved a sigh. “I will not leave her alone in a hostile land. I will hang on, somehow.”

Lilleen nodded. Heinfor looked from the spirit to Kaeldin and back, “We should probably get moving if we want to see about catching the last few of these dragony bastards.”

Kaeldin nodded and began rummaging through the remaining supplies of the drow- dragons. Damn, I should have asked Lilleen to send Mir with a few spell books and kiira stones of mine, he thought ruefully. No matter, I think I can manage with the wands and the two kiira I have with me right now. I wonder how much the world has changed since I last walked on it.

--)--------

Mirandaline looked around her new surroundings. This is unexpected, she thought uneasily.

She stood in a white gazebo in the middle of a vast field of heather, lavender and sage lit in the silver light of a crescent moon. A small globe sat on a pedestal carved with stylized images of elven life. The globe swirled with a soft golden glow inside. The psion looked closer at the pedestal's carvings and saw some of the same figures recurring again and again. Is it telling a story... or something else? she wondered.

The dark-wood elf started to mentally quest out towards the glowing sphere. There are protections around it, she frowned, And something about it seems familiar...

“Enjoying the garden, young mage?” a laughing alto voice broke into Mirandaline's path of thoughts.

“It is a lovely garden,” the psion answered warily as she turned to face her host. “Where am I?”

An female elf-like creature with silky red-gold hair, flawless golden skin, eyes that seemed like dark pools filled with stars and a simple dress of shimmery white stood at the steps of the gazebo. “This is your last test, little mage,” She said. “I am Morwel.”

Mir felt her misgivings settle in the pit of her stomach as she asked, “What is the test?”

Morwel gave a silvery laugh, “'Tis simple, child. Break the sphere.”

Feeling entirely drab and sensing a trap, the psion asked, “What's the catch?”

Morwel simply smiled patiently at the dark-wood elf. Mir suppressed a sigh and continued questing towards the crystal sphere. So many protections layered on its surface... All sticky, cold... They almost seem cobwebby. Touching it without shielding of some kind seems like a very bad idea.

Mir gave a little mental push at the globe. It did not budge from the pedestal. Figures this isn't going to be that easy... she sighed and resumed her inspection of the wards.

Every strand of the weave used in these seems to be designed to stick to the person who touches it. Almost as if it's supposed to be easy to break the sphere, but get caught in the wards afterwards... She frowned in concentration. And something feels very familiar about the sphere...

Mir let her feel of the globe settle for a bit while she tried to place exactly how it felt familiar to her. Last time I felt something like this I was taking lessons from Kaeldin... Wait a minute... She looked at the globe again in shock. I think it is Kaeldin. Or that chunk of soul he said he traded away at any rate. Corellon grant me the wisdom to get through this mess...

She inspected the magic surrounding the sphere. It feels like the wards want to catch and adhere to whoever touches it and pull them into it. She remembered Kaeldin's explanation of the the telmiirakara neshyrr and amended, Or part of them anyway.

Some experimental psionic pushing on the wards themselves convinced the dark-wood elf that some sort of psychic anchor would be needed in order to keep from getting sucked away into the sphere herself. Mir opened up her mind to feel for anyone who might be willing to help her.

Morwel's essence burned at Mir's passive sensing like midday summer sunshine. Eladrin, the psion thought morosely. I bet she could act as an anchor, but I'd also bet that she would extract a price for it.

“That's the catch, isn't it,” The psion turned to Morwel in realization. “To break the sphere, I'd have to get Kaeldin's spirit out. To get Kaeldin's spirit out, I'd get caught myself or use you as an anchor and likely end up going through the telmiirkara neshyrr anyway.”

“You are very astute, little mage,” Morwel inclined her head respectfully towards Mirandaline. “Kraanfhoar requires a guardian. The lore contained within would be dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“But if I could find a psychic anchor other than you, I could still make it work, right?” the psion pressed.

“If you can find the stars even if they are obscured by the sun, perhaps you might find someone within Kraanfhoar to help you,” the eladrin conceded.

So that's what the inscription meant by “Seldarine and kindred” guiding me through tests, Mir thought gloomily. I'd be able to sense any relatives of mine better than other elves. Any close kin of mine are either outside the citadel in Faerûn or outside the citadel in Arvandor.

She looked at the crescent moon hanging in the sky and thought, Well, the moon is sometimes visible when the sun's out. Maybe I'll get lucky or Morwel's deliberately trying to discourage me from looking. Nothing to do but make the effort...

Mir sat down in front of the globe's pedestal, closed her eyes and stretched out her sense of other elves. Morwel burned terribly at her searching mental touch and the psion strove to feel past the hot spike of pain. Breathe... Keep breathing and drift past it.

After what seemed like forever, the dark-wood elf felt something beyond the burning Morwel's aura caused her. Cooler, still sharp though... and taut. Very tense. Mir focused on the faint presence as much as she could. I need to have a good feel for it if I'm going to succeed with breaking that sphere without losing myself in the process.

Her perception of the faint presence wavered at the edge of the psion's metaphysical senses, blinded as they were by the eladrin's presence. Mir kept trying to gain a solid sense of it, though it became harder and harder to maintain her focus on it with every passing second.

Finally, she felt the eclipsed presence steady itself. Still somewhat obscured by Morwel, but I can feel whoever it is. Icy worry mixed with warm fuzzy love and concern. It isn't Mother, I would know if it were her and besides, she wouldn't be able to make it into Kraanfhoar in the first place because of the wards.

Mir reached for the unknown spirit and felt them reach back in return. I've met this elf somewhere, I know it. I hope they stay in Kraanfhoar long enough for me to figure out where I know them from...

Keeping a solid hold on the helpful stranger, Mir began to mentally push at the wards surrounding the gold lit sphere. As she suspected, each strand of the protective spells woven about the sphere adhered to her as she touched them. One by one, she peeled them away from the globe and removed it from the pedestal.

Now for the hard part. The psion took a deep breath and started to pull away from the wards, using the link with her unknown benefactor to secure her. The ward strands came off slowly and felt as if they left something sticky behind. It's like trying to scrape raw dough off one's hands with only a damp towel. I can get most of it off, but there's bound to be some bits left stuck to me. Need to make sure I get the worst of it off.

Finally, Mirandaline felt the last of the spell traps around her lose their grip, leaving her holding onto the sphere and the kind stranger. The dark-wood elf opened her eyes and glanced at Morwel to gauge the eladrin's reaction. Morwel remained serene, but watched her closely. The psion threw the crystal ball against the ground as hard as she could. To her surprise, it shattered with a crash into thousands of thin tiny pieces. The golden mist swirled out of the wreckage of the sphere became a semi-cohesive cloud and flew around Morwel and Mir once before shimmering into nothing. I hope Kaeldin finds himself more himself, the dark-wood elf thought tiredly.

“That should not have been possible,” Morwel frowned delicately.

“Except sometimes a lie isn't a lie, because we don't always see the truth but one can feel it anyway,” the psion answered. She leaned against the pedestal and watched Morwel warily. She said all I had to do is break the sphere to get out of here. I hope I'm not expected to get myself out of here. I'm too drained to stand.

“Kraanfhoar requires a guardian,” the eladrin said sternly. “There is not enough magic about you to do a binding like that of your predecessor.”

I knew there was a catch, Mir thought grumpily. “If the archives require a guardian, why not disperse the archives?”

Morwel considered it for a moment and answered, “It is too dangerous to set loose all of it at once, child.”

“What about in bits?” the psion suggested. “Since it doesn't seem like you're going to let me go without conditions.”

“The magic that clings to you binds you to Kraanfhoar,” Morwel explained patiently. “All that is left to do is to shape it.”

“But there's a problem,” Mir pressed, sensing an advantage. “You can't bind me anywhere near as tightly as you did with Kaeldin.”

The delicate frown returned, “You are correct, little mage.”

“What about letting parts of the library go out in little bits? To the right people?” Mir suggested. Can't hurt to try.

“You would never live long enough to complete such a task,” Morwel observed.

The psion considered the problem. “What about something similar to Lilleen's binding? She can move around as a spirit.” Morwel opened her mouth to say something else but Mirandaline cut her off in a rush. “If I have some way to talk people into the tower when I pass on, would that work?”

“Perhaps,” the eladrin delicately tapped her lips with one finger. “There's enough of my threads on you to allow you to talk to others in their dreams, when you pass to Arvandor. Certainly there's enough to let you move between the citadel and the material plane...”

“That works for me,” Mir said with no small amount of relief. “I just don't want to be stuck there for eons!”

Morwel gave a slivery laugh, “So the ability to travel to and from Kraanfhoar, a sense of where to put some of the less dangerous kiira stones and dream talking for later. I believe we can arrange this with the magic that still clings to you. If you will come before me, child?”

Mirandaline knelt in front of Morwel as the eladrin began to chant softly over the dark-wood elf. The cool sticky strands of the remaining magic shifted disconcertingly around her.

--)--------

Ricardt saw the light in Kraanfhoar's hallway change from cool blue to something more like the sun filtered through a lot of green leaves. Next to the black haired paladin, Teilla stifled a sob and started to tremble. He gently stroked the bard's hands in a soothing manner with his own and wondered if and how they were going free themselves. Mir was so sure that there would be help here, Ricardt thought as he looked at the small dark-wood elf. What happened?

Mirandaline had not stirred from where she had fallen on the wall. The male drow guarding the psion prodded her with the point of his sword, prompting Gorruan to step in. The paladin's command of surface Elven was decent enough, but the drow dialect had enough variation that he found it difficult to follow. And they are speaking with a heavy accent as well, or so I gathered from the link with Teilla and Mir. I hate not knowing what is going on.

The scaly leader of the band of drow and dragon tainted elves appeared to scold his subordinate for mistreating Mir. The armored drow shook his head emphatically and gestured to the unconscious elf. Gorruan leaned over to inspect Mir's still form. When he straightened up, he gave orders to one of his henchmen and the male drow-dragon swiftly bound Mir's hands behind her and hobbled her feet. They wouldn't tie her up if she were dead, Ricardt felt a little spark of hope flare up.

A small flicker of movement around the fallen psion caught the paladin's attention. Gorruan continued to give orders to his bravos. A few of them started to wander off through the halls. Probably scouting the place out, Ricardt filed the information away, hoping some idea on how to escape would eventually come to him. He continued to concentrate on the flickering movement

A pair of black hands passed over Mir's head and Ricardt saw a smallish male drow kneeling over the psion in a cloak carefully arranged to fall between the furtive looking male and all the other drow in the hallway. The paladin frowned, His leathers don't match the rest of these ingrates. Who is that?

The newcomer caught sight of Ricardt looking at him. Moving slowly and deliberately, the small male drow locked eyes with the paladin and crossed his forearms over his chest. Mir said crossed arms is a sign that means “ally,” Ricardt realized suddenly. He can't of come all by his lonesome though...

A flurry of activity at the other end of the hallway pulled the paladin's attention towards it. Gorruan strode through his subordinates towards the disturbance. Ricardt caught sight of a tall drow elf dressed out in chainmail, cloak and a pair of longswords, all in black. Teilla froze. That isn't one of Gorruan's thugs... He glanced back at the small male drow and could not spot either him or Mir through the shifting drow-dragons. Has help arrived?

The new drow chuckled at something Gorruan said. Ricardt suppressed a shudder. The harsh cutting baritone sound did not bring to mind someone who fought on the side of celestials. The paladin gently squeezed Teilla's hand. She still sat motionless and stared hard at Gorruan's guest. Then the bard's fingers traced a crescent onto the back of Ricardt's hand. She waited a moment and did so again. Ricardt watched the new drow talking amiably with the lead drow-dragon. She saw something, the paladin thought, hope sparking up once again. What was it?

The new drow held his hands up in a placating gesture and instead stalked towards Maresa. The genasi glared and tried to bite when he ran a finger down her pale blueish cheek. He gave an amused laugh in response and said something that resulted in answering chuckles from the drow-dragons around him. The new drow turned and talked with Gorruan again. Teilla again traced a crescent on the back of Ricardt's hand. The paladin looked hard at the newcomer. Wait a minute, in the black on black embroidery on that dark elf's surcoat... Is that a crescent moon? He looked more closely and thought, It is a crescent motif on his surcoat and cloak. Now what would a dark elf wearing the symbol of the chief surface elven deity be doing here... Unless they are part of the help Mir expected.

Ricardt squeezed Teilla's hand in understanding and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt someone else gently take hold of the rope around his wrists. The paladin nearly bonked heads with the cloaked dark elf kneeling next to him. The same elf who was pulling Mir away, Ricardt realized.

“Stay still,” the elf whispered softly in the paladin's ear in lightly accented Common. “I think a ruckus is going to start soon.”

Ricardt felt his bonds loosen and he turned his attention back to Gorruan and his guest. Most of the band of raiders seemed focused on him and less on the captives. The small cloaked elf cut through Teilla's bindings before stalking slowly and silently towards Jorin and Maresa.

The paladin glanced back at Gorruan. The drow dragon continued to talk to the tall drow in black as he turned back to the doorway where Mir had fallen. The scaly dark elf's mouth dropped open and he gasped audibly in surprise. Ricardt risked a quick glance towards the new drow as the elf said something sarcastic sounding and drew his swords in a blur of motion. The dragon blooded drow jumped away from the unexpected scrape of steel. Two of his juniors were not so fortunate. The black clad drow slashed one through the throat and sheared through the leathers protecting the other's belly. He kept himself and his blades moving to make himself a more difficult target as a powerful alto voice shouted in clear elven, “NOW! Not later, gods damn it!”

Gorruan drew a short sword of his own and edged towards the tall drow in black, angling to flank him. Four glowing lavender missiles headed for the drow dragon. Though they faded out of existence before impact, the little bolts balked Gorruan long enough for the strange tall drow to get out of danger.

Ricardt waited until one of the scaly drow came too close and kicked the male in the hip with both feet. The paladin's victim stumbled off balance towards the spinning swords-elf. The tall drow took quick advantage of Ricardt's surprise attack and stabbed through the dragony dark elf's leg. Blood pumped from the wound as Ricardt wriggled out of the ropes binding him and ruthlessly pulled the short sword out of the the dying elf's hand.

Teilla pulled her hands free of her bonds, yanked her gag down and started singing a fierce wordless melody. To the paladin's astonishment, an alto voice joined the bard's soprano in impromptu harmony. Ricardt focused on slashing or stabbing at anyone who came close to him or Teilla as he looked over the chaos of the fight.

The drow dragons seemed focused primarily on two people. The drow with the black crescents gave them all kinds of trouble. Six of Gorruan's thugs tried to cage the stranger in and tripped over the bodies over four of their comrades to do so. Another knot of distraction drew Ricardt's attention towards it. A dark elf spun and slashed with a gleaming silver sword, her long white hair unbound and flowing around her as she whirled. Sparks of lightning originated from somewhere behind her and every so often one of the drow captors would suddenly fall for no readily apparent reason. Probably the sneaky fellow that cut us loose, Ricardt realized.

A sudden gust of hot air from the other end of the hallway drew the paladin's attention away from the main melee. A blond male elf with a black sword hurled fire at Gorruan. The drow dragon threw up a shield and began a counterspell. Ricardt shook his head and kept himself out of the main fighting. Damn, I keep losing track of who's fighting for us and where they are. Tyr grant the dark elves on our side sense enough to not get too close to me, else I might stab them by mistake. Need to keep Teilla safe, first and foremost.

Along the far wall, the paladin caught sight of a smallish cloaked figure heading determinedly towards the spell duel. Ricardt lost sight of him as a drow with scales instead of hair noticed the blade in the paladin's hand and rushed forward to attack. Ricardt parried the charge away and elbowed the drow in the shoulder, knocking the elf off balance. The drow's momentary stumble was enough for the paladin to slip the shortsword's point under and into the elf's ribcage. The dragon-kin coughed blood and sagged forwards. Ricardt roughly shoved the dying elf away from him and Teilla and kept a wary eye out for anyone else who looked like they intended ill towards the paladin and the bard.

More crackles and popping sounded from both ends of the hallway. I hope the spellcasters rescuing us are winning, Ricardt thought worriedly. Teilla still sang her fierce melody with an alto voice accompanying. The tall drow in black slashed his swords in time to the song. The metallic clashes and wet slicing sounds issuing from his skirmish provided a grim percussive beat to the bard's battle song.

A sudden startled cry drew the paladin's attention away from the stunning display of bladework. When he looked, Ricardt caught sight of Gorruan trying to dislodge the small cloaked drow from his back. The wiry elf stabbed and slashed at the dragon-kin's throat and chest every chance he got with either of the two curved knives in his hands. As the drow-dragon tried slam the small elf into the wall of the hallway, the sun elf with the black sword moved in closer. The small sneaky elf dropped off Gorruan's back before he got to the wall and tackled the bigger elf-kin around the knees, knocking Gorruan totally off balance and giving the blond elf time to ram his sword's point into the drow-dragon's gut. As Gorruan collapsed, the small dark elf disentangled himself and coolly slashed open the drow-dragon's throat.

Ricardt realized that Teilla's battlesong had stopped. He surveyed the rest of the hallway. Jorin and Maresa stood with their backs to the wall, a bloodied longsword and a wand in their hands respectively. A copper haired sun elf female in a yellow dress standing at the opposite end of the hall whispered an quick incantation and the shimmery blue spell Sheilah around her winked out. A female drow in a slightly blood splattered white tunic and trousers with long white hair held a dripping bastard sword in one hand. The tall drow male in black stood breathing hard in the middle of a tangled mess of dead drow dragons. “Where's the girl?” he grated out in heavily accented common.

Ricardt instantly looked at the short dark elf. “Up here,” the short drow said as he turned and started climbing one of he hallway's intricate archways. “I'm going to need help getting little Mir down.”

The paladin stared into the carved tangle and finally saw Mirandaline,still unconscious wrapped up snugly. Lucky her, he thought, She missed the whole fracas.

“How did you get her all the way up there without anyone noticing?” The blond male elf asked in amazement.

“Very carefully,” The small drow responded dryly. “Going up is easy. It's the getting down part that's difficult. Anyone have any useful spells that might help?”

Both sun elves shook their heads. The tall male drow huffed a sigh, “Damned spell slingers.”

“Can you lower Mir down to us?” Ricardt asked.

The small drow nodded and Teilla asked in a reasonable voice, “Can we know who just saved our bacon?”

“I'm Ilyyela Miritar,” The copper haired female sun elf said in measured tones.

“Starym,” The blond sun elf said uneasily as he looked warily at Teilla.

The bard frowned at him, “Which one?”

Starym ignored her question and smirked, “Nice song.”

“I'm Saerriin Mithias,” The female drow said in a smooth alto voice. She waved at the tall drow in black. “That's my son, Zak.”

Zak growled something under his breath before pointing at Jorin and Ricardt and continuing in an audible tone, “If you two give me a boost, we can get the girl down quicker.”

“Why do you get to catch?” Jorin asked suspiciously.

“Because we're likely heavier than Master Zak is,” Ricardt said quickly, hoping to forestall an argument.

“Can you hurry up?” The smaller drow's light tenor sounded tensely from above. “Something's very wrong with little Mir. She won't wake up.”

Little Mir? The paladin thought, puzzled. “And you are...?”

“Lowering Mir,” He answered mildly. Ricardt frowned at the obvious evasion and the small agile dark elf added resignedly, “I'm Bhindax.”

“You sound like you're worried that these clowns might recognize you,” Zak snorted and glared at Ilyyela. “The wards don't lie. If they had a gap, a certain currently useless priest might be here to give us a hand.”

“Quit giving me the stink eye,” the lady sun elf sniffed. “My husband hit those wards at a full run and was knocked back.”

“And yes, it would have been easier if only Mir came through,” Bhindax huffed as he shifted the limp psion out of a tangle of carvings. “Are you all ready to catch the young eyas yet?”

Jorin looked unhappy but braced along the hallway's wall next to Ricardt. Zak stepped on the paladin's bent knee, climbed up to Jorin's and Ricardt's shoulders and put his back to the wall. The paladin crossed his arms and focused very hard on staying as still as possible braced against the wall. Saerriin and Maresa, the tallest of the girls, came close to help catch.

Bhindax carefully started to lower Mir gently down, taking care to keep the dark-wood elf's head and neck steady as he did so. Zak caught the psion's legs and shifted his weight around on Ricardt's shoulder to keep balanced. The paladin grunted with the added burden and did his best to stay steady. Zak let her slide into Maresa's and Saerriin's waiting arms. The paladin looked up long enough to see Teilla standing out of the way with her hands clasped together at chest level.

Finally the genasi and the lady drow lowered the psion to the ground. Zak hopped off Ricardt's and Jorin's shoulders. The paladin sagged to the floor in relief from the weight. Bhindax's voice floated down, “Can you clear away for a moment?”

The paladin looked up and saw the short drow hanging upside down, more or less holding on to the arch's carvings with his feet and nothing else. Ricardt scooted away from the arch. Bhindax flipped himself off his precarious perch to land softly in a crouch where Ricardt had been sitting. He nodded his thanks to the paladin and hurried over to where Mirandaline lay, still out cold. The paladin hauled himself to his feet and followed.

Bhindax dropped to his knees and started to check the psion over. Saerriin chanted something softly to no discernible effect. Ricardt moved to stand next to Teilla. The bard watched them closely, nibbling at her fingernails in worry. She hasn't done that in years, Ricardt thought. He put a gentle hand on the bard's shoulder and Teilla stepped closer to the paladin in response. Ricardt hugged her around her shoulders.

“I hate to ask uncomfortable questions,” Zak's rough baritone grated into the quiet corridor, “But who tells the girl's mother what happened?”

“Don't look at me,” Ilyyela shook her head and backed away. “I'd rather arm wrestle a bear.”

Saerriin stopped her chanting and sighed, “She's in some sort of spell trance. I'm not sure how or if we can pull her out of it.”

“I'll see if there's someone who can help and get through the mythal lockdown,” Starym volunteered.

As the sun elf ran down the corridor, Bhindax took hold of one of Mir's hands and started talking softly, “Come on eyas, wake up... wake up... please...”

Ricardt frowned, Wait a minute...

Teilla stopped nibbling at her fingernails and finished Ricardt's thought, “How do you know to call Mir 'eyas'? She told us that only a few people knew her by that nickname.”

The small drow shifted into sitting position and did not answer, preferring to hold the psion's hand in concern. Zak scrutinized Bhindax and commented, “I've seen you before, watching my weapons lessons with the girl. Usually after I had bad run ins with the girl's mother...” The swords-elf gave a sudden chuckle. “Well damn me back to the Demonweb. The she-wolf wasn't picking fights. She was running interference...”

“She looks just like her mother,” Bhindax said softly. Ricardt got the distinct feeling the dark elf had not been listening at all.

“And you look like one of the illusions Lilleen showed when we first came here,” Teilla observed. “The one Mir said she didn't know.”

“She doesn't,” Bhindax muttered glumly. “Never got the chance.”

“Bhindax Hune?” Ricardt pressed gently.

The dark elf nodded. “Former merchant scout.”

“You're Mir's father, aren't you?” the paladin guessed. Bhindax shrugged and Ricardt mentally kicked himself. I forgot that most drow don't pay much attention to the paternal side.

“Was interested in trying my hand at it,” the scout said quietly, surprising the paladin. “Never got to though.”

Ricardt nodded and looked at Teilla. The bard was playing very close attention to Bhindax. “If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to hear the whole story of that.”

“Mir hears it first,” The small drow said firmly, “After she wakes up.”

The bard nodded. Jorin looked skeptical, “You can't be sure if she will wake up...”

“Oh yes I can,” The scout gave a slight smile. “Little Mir might have learned a lot from Amaria, but she gets the psionics from me.” His expression turned serious again. “Strength in it seems to skip generations though. I don't know what state she'll be in when she wakes up.”

Zak's rough voice cut into the worried silence again, “What in the Abyss took you so long?”

Everyone jumped at the sound and looked around. “Bet he practices at that,” Teilla grumbled softly. Ricardt gave a small nod and saw Starym heading towards them with a new elf following him. The fair skinned male looked a bit odd, particularly around the eyes. Is that an eladrin? Ricardt wondered.

“Faenllach? Did we miss any of the intruders?” Saerriin asked.

“No, Amaria shot the two scouts as they left the tower,” Faenllach smirked. “She got them before Kraanfhoar's circle did. How's the little one?”

“Still out,” Ricardt glanced at Mirandaline to make sure. Aside from breathing, the psion had not moved.

“Not entirely.” Bhindax lifted up his hand with all fingers spread. Mir clung to it with a pale knuckled grip. The scout shrugged, “I'm going to take losing feeling in my fingers as a good sign.”

“So the elflet planar shifted the corridor with you all and the shadow dragon yahoos in it,” Faenllach sighed. “The mythal locked down tight against outsiders. It took a lot of pushing to get me in here. I'm not entirely sure why though...”

“Will we be able to go back?” Maresa asked in a practical tone.

“I asked that.” Starym spread his hands in apology. “Got a lot of shrugs in answer...”

A small groan interrupted the sun elf. “Hurts... so tired.” Ricardt looked towards the source and saw Mir curling up into a ball, clutching her head with her eyes tightly shut. Bhindax gently rocked her and murmured soothingly.

Teilla slipped out of Ricardt's arms and knelt by the dark-wood elf. “What happened? Are you all right?”

Mir shook her head and curled up tighter. Teilla continued in a gentler tone, “We're all fine. Your trap worked.”

Running footsteps and a soft rustling sounded from farther up the corridor. Ricardt turned and saw Lilleen sprinting breathlessly towards them, her skirts fluttering behind her. The Miyeritari mage skidded to a stop in front of Bhindax and Mir. “Child... I know you are not feeling your best, but I need to be sure,” she said softly, gently stroking the psion's hair. “ I need you to open your eyes and let me get a look at them.”

“Head hurts,” Mir grumbled.

“I know, little one,” Lilleen coaxed, “I just need to check... There we go...” The loremistress looked closely before laughing in relief. “They are green. Grass green. Not changing.”

“What does that mean?” Jorin asked. His question went unanswered as Lilleen skipped in joy.

“'Not changing?'” Maresa repeated. The genasi looked between Lilleen and Faenllach. “Like Araevin's?”

“And Kaeldin's,” Faenllach noted. “And mine, but I came that way.”

“Eladrin?” Ricardt asked. Faenllach nodded.

“Bralani to be precise,” Ilyyela chimed in. The eladrin huffed an exaggerated sigh. Teilla and Saerriin giggled at the theatrical response.

“I think some rest should be in order for you, eyas...” Bhindax started.

“No... have to look up shadow magic,” The psion mumbled and tried to get up. “Got to...”

“Sit and rest, child,” Lilleen cut in. “I will tell Kaeldin and your cousin outside that you all are all right and that they should meet you somewhere...”

“Evereska,” Teilla supplied. “Kileontheal's there and might have some ideas.”

“Or we could search our captors' pockets to find some clue as to where their allies are,” Ricard suggested mildly. “See where they are and then surprise them?”

“In the meantime,” Maresa looked around at everyone, “Evereska seems like a good choice. Some rest seems like a good idea too.”

“I can get us back,” Mir put in tiredly.

“It would be a bad idea to do so right now, child,” Lilleen said sternly. “You are completely tapped out and the mythal should be allowed to settle before trying another teleport.”

“Is there a place where we can get away from the leftovers there?” Jorin asked. “Or put them somewhere... or something?”

“There is,” Faenllach smirked. “Everyone who killed a marauder, search him and then I'll magic the remains away.”

“There's a study through that door,” Lilleen pointed down the hallway a little ways. “I should go inform Kaeldin to meet you all in Evereska. There are people out there who know the way, right?”

“Yes,” Ricardt reassured the mage as he went to search the drow-dragon he had dispatched. “Heinfor should be able to guide them well.” Lilleen nodded and then disappeared with an arcane whisper of power.

“Mistress Teilla?” Bhindax nudged the bard. “Could you give me a hand getting little Mir tucked in that study?”

“Sure,” The red haired half-elf slung one of the woozy psion's arms over her shoulders. Mirandaline leaned on the pair as they started walking down the corridor.

“I'll be all right Dada,” Mir said softly as they went.

Looks like that reunion went all right, Ricardt smiled. He turned his attention to the dead drow-dragon. He found a few coins that he had never seen before and set them aside. Maybe someone here will know where they're from.

A rolling grumble in an awful sounding language sounded over the soft sounds of cloth and leather scraping against stone and the occasional muted thump as a body was rolled over. “Damn amateurs,” Zak growled. “If you all were better at blades, I wouldn't be searching six bodies.”

Jorin snorted a laugh and turned it into a cough. Ricardt smothered his own chuckle. Saerriin appreared to hide a smile. Faenllach had his mouth covered and his shoulders shook. I guess hearing him grouse that everyone isn't up to his standard is a common sound, Ricardt shook his head in amusement.

“I've got papers here,” Starym crowed. “In a cipher no less.”

“Mir said that the mage she met in Evereska worked out the coded papers,” Ricardt grinned. “Sounds like a lead to me.”

“That dark elf better rest up quicker then,” Maresa said grimly. “We likely need explanations sooner rather than later.”

--)--------

Author's note: All right, I'm really sorry about the delay in chapters and leaving kind readers on a nail biting cliffhanger, but life has been very busy. Happily so, but still busy. Anyway, I hope that this chapter was worth the wait.