Stabbing pain in her wounded leg cut short her stream of invectives. Damn Angul for refusing to provide healing. Usually, it was all she could do to fight off his influence. Now that she most needed his balm, he remained dull, unconcerned metal. She savagely shoved the blade in his sheath, a bitter oath in her mouth. She groped for her flask.
The pain in her leg redoubled, pounding as if a spike were being inserted. Blood slicked her calf and clouded the icy water with a scarlet plume. A wave of dizziness pulled at her and she stumbled.
Gage appeared at her side with a supportive arm.
"How is your wound?" he asked, concern turning down the corners of his mouth. The thief's own injury no longer seemed to bother him ... Then she saw the glint of a discarded glass vial lying unstoppered and empty along his path.
"Are you blind? What do you think? You could have saved me some of your healing draught," she mumbled. "Help me sit."
The thief lowered her to the ground and said, "Sorry Kiril, I was in a bad way. I didn't think to save any." As Gage's gauntleted right hand guided her to the ground, her sheathed weapon finally sparked and glimmered.
She gave up scrabbling for her flask. Instead, she grasped Angul's hilt. It was just like him. Despite himself, the willful blade couldn't remain quiescent in such close proximity to the hellbred glove. As her fingers slipped around the hilt, warmth suffused her. It suddenly occurred to her that amputating the thief's hand then and there was probably a reasonable course of action.
Above and beyond his fraternization with tools born in hellish dimensions, Gage knew more about the Knights' emergence than he should. What had he said during the heat of the fight? Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she looked up at him. She gripped her sheathed sword tighter. Angul stanched her blood and fused severed flaps of skin and muscle, knitting them together as if never parted.
When she stood, her strength was renewed, and more. Her eyes burned as she roughly threw off the thief's hand, turning to face him. He realized his peril and backstepped.
Kiril groaned with the mental effort of relinquishing her grip on Angul's hilt. An arc of blue-bright fire persisted a moment, a connection between her hand and the blade, before spitting and snapping into oblivion, burning her palm with petulant fury.
"Not today, Angul," she told the blade, which quivered and audibly groaned, impotent in its leather scabbard.
"Kiril, I—" began Gage.
"Quiet! I need to think," she interrupted. But did she have time for that luxury? Doubtful. Something was terribly wrong within the bastions of her old home. How could she come to any other conclusion when the bodies of wood elves lay in shallow graves before the Causeway, and its once doughty defenders attacked former Keepers?
She mentally reached out, feeling for the planar veil and the access points that would flip the Causeway open once more—and found nothing. The Causeway Gate had been sealed from within, and no external force, not even a Keeper, could access it until those inside decided otherwise.
The half-elf martial warrior and his sorcerous companion approached. Where had they come from, and what would they demand of her? Too many thoughts competed for her attention. She didn't need any more complications. She was close to breaking. Maybe a sip from her flask would do the trick. She grabbed the enchanted container, easily unclipping it now that Angul had mended her ...
No.
No! She shook her head, so violently she saw flashes of light.
No. If Nangulis had somehow, beyond all reason, returned to Stardeep, dulled wits wouldn't pave the road to that reunion. Quite the opposite. Better just to run herself through here and now than allow her decade-old habit to sabotage her, on the cusp of comprehension. Kiril returned her flask to her belt.
The strangers bowed their heads in greeting. Their unforeseen aid had turned the tables, or at least preserved her life long enough until someone within Stardeep pulled back the Knights. Perhaps the newcomers had answers, if Gage didn't. The half-elf, the one who'd fought with only his hands—his skin and hair were dark for an elf, and his features possessed a cast and shape unfamiliar to her. Yet his likeness reminded her somehow of the Sild?yuir realm.
She addressed the newcomers. "What do you know of this debacle?"
Gage held up a gauntleted hand to point. "Be easy, strangers. But answer the question."
The half-elf spoke. "I am Raidon Kane. My companion is Adrik Commorand. Who are you?"
Kiril shook her head. "All in good time. I have a legitimate reason to stand here. I acknowledge the aid you provided and am in your debt, but I would know how you came to be here, and why?"
Raidon nodded. He said, "Mounted elves of stern visage, like those we just faced, rode from across the misted water to attack an expedition of some dozens of elves we accompanied, including a sizeable contingent known as the Masters of the Yuirwood. Adrik and I numbered among the survivors. When the defeated remnants of that force departed, Adrik and I lingered."
"Why did these so-called masters approach Stardeep?"
Raidon responded, "Stardeep? Is that the realm beyond the water?"
Kiril said, "Yes, though calling Stardeep a 'realm' is inaccurate—it is much smaller." To speak so to strangers broke rules she'd sworn as a Keeper. Too bad—if these were agents of the Traitor, she would end their days soon enough.
The half-elf, his voice serene and strangely composed, said, "Some tendays now past, mail-clad elves of unfamiliar demeanor rode forth from this location and exterminated a nearby wood elf encampment. The Masters sent a retaliatory force, thinking to extract vengeance, and perhaps seal the portal from whatever realm of discord the murderers originated."
Kiril swore, "Bastard sons of whores!" Raidon cocked his head at her outburst. Adrik took an involuntary step back.
The Empyrean Knights were now striking out into the sun-warmed world to commit genocide? She couldn't grasp the man's story; she didn't want to believe it. If he spoke the truth, then the worst may have already happened. The Traitor must have escaped his bonds and taken control of Stardeep's forces. But if that were true, wouldn't she know? Though a Keeper in exile, she retained sensitivities born in her years of service to the Cerulean Sign. Somehow, she thought she'd know if the Traitor ever completely slipped his bonds.
She controlled her voice enough to ask, "And you are one of these Masters of the Yuirwood?"
Raidon shook his head. "Neither I nor my companion are native. I've been on the road for some time, a road that has led me here, where I hope to find answers concerning the whereabouts of my absent mother."
So saying, the half-elf drew an amulet from beneath his shirt and brandished it for Kiril to see.
She gasped, "Where did you get that?"
Kiril could scarcely credit what flashed before her in the afternoon light: a Seal of the Cerulean Sign. Thirty-six Seals once were known, or perhaps double that; Keeper histories were confused and incomplete. But the knowledge of their making was certainly lost, and as the centuries blurred forward, more and more Seals went missing, were stolen, or were consumed in use. In recent times only a single one remained to Stardeep, the one Nangulis had worn in his vigil over the Well. When Nangulis was transformed and Kiril left Stardeep, she'd left the amulet with Commander Brathtar to pass to the next Keeper of the Inner Bastion.