Amdirlain’s PoV - Maze


    She’d spent weeks exploring regions where the energy within felt promising. Now, all she had left of her accumulated keys was a sole key that she’d left laying on her folded dress.


    The Ki racing through her meridians flared and, caught in her meditations, Amdirlain almost missed the oddity completely. Adrift in a no-mind meditative state, she allowed the energy to cycle again and glimpsed a shadow, not within the network of energy points but resting beneath it. With each circuit, she gradually traced more of the shadow’s pattern until a cracked and vine-choked wall presented itself piece by piece.


    Am I seeing an aspect of my Soul? Master Cyrus said cycling helped to understand one''s flaws; I didn’t expect it to be so literal. It might be a mixture of this place and my weird mind.


    Amdirlain, for the first time in years, turned on Soul Sight and focused it on herself; the vines’ maliciousness seethed. Holding her own details at bay, she took in the way the vines clung in crevices, the way ivy creepers would dig out a wall’s mortar. The leaves curled and shifted here and there as if they were aware she could perceive them.


    Fuck!


    When the thorns breached her skin, the unit''s words came to mind, and Amdirlain had to restrain herself from immediate action. Flaring the Ki through the pattern silhouetted the vines in a stark shadow within her. With the Ki having nowhere to go, she finally had to stop when her flesh lit up from within. A final check confirmed a section of the vines aligned with the shadows sensed while cycling Ki, and she deactivated the Power.


    Teleport set her at the entrance to her chamber and at full speed, she blurred through the passageways, waiting for the thorns to react in the fashion she needed. One thorn just below her wrist joint at last lanced through flesh, and Amdirlain brought it up beside her mouth to clamp teeth along its length. Fingers scrambled on blood-slicked skin, and she tried to pull it further out rather than snap it off, but the vine fought back.


    Though it felt as if it had bloomed from the bone, the thorn twisted about, growing spines to rake across her lips when the pain didn’t get her to back down. More thorns sprouted from her arm to ?drive themselves into her cheek and neck, and Amdirlain activated Ki State to armour her flesh. Pain and memories exploded inside her while they thrashed, contained within her skin. Those she hadn’t restrained retreated to join the fray inside her, grinding against flesh and bone.


    Memories snapped at her through the haze of pain and threatened to swamp her, but Amdirlain pushed on until a loop of vine protruded from her wrist. Fingers jammed deeper into the open wound beneath the vine’s tendril and memories battered frantically at her control. With one last effort, she hooked her fingers under the squirming vine and let a memory drown her.


    Footsteps echoed within the chamber, the meagre furnishing in the sun room not enough to absorb their sounds. Released, the Song quickly went to work, and she watched the opaque crystal darken as it soundlessly filled the carafe.


    “Were you ever going to tell me?” asked Mori at last, having spent nearly half an hour since her arrival pacing.


    The bitter notes within Mori’s Song had been enough to warn Orhêthurin to keep her focus well away. Though she’d visited her home since Orhêthurin had created it, she’d never come in the evening, or even unaccompanied. Indeed, she wouldn’t have expected Mori to come calling on the eve of her awakening ceremony, a time most Anar would spend in meditation.


    The young girl from the last memory had bloomed into a delicate beauty whose gaze glowed with strength and determination. She wore her dark blue hair short, and with it barely touching her jawline, it was unsuitable for any of the court’s long styles.


    “Tell you what?”


    “That you''re my great grandmother,” growled Mori. “You let them keep it a secret from me.”


    With careful movements, Orhêthurin set the carafe back on the table and focused on the upset young lady. “While you weren’t aware, they tolerated me seeing you; that tolerance would have vanished if you’d learned more from me. I’m surprised you found anyone willing to speak about me among the court’s pets.”


    “It depends on where you go digging. I found a journal that spoke of the first awakening and included names. It’s the first time I’ve found anything with any mention of your relationship to ólneth,” Mori hissed, and the furious Song from her words made it clear Orhêthurin wasn’t their target. “How could my mother do that to you?”


    “I executed her husband.”


    “Then how could grandmother let her strip you of everything! He composed the vines; she should be glad you didn’t imprison them both in Hell.” Mori declared, and the fury in her music soared. “I found his chorus’ songbooks locked away among keepsakes of hers. Their notes made it clear it should cripple you, so you’d beg from his chorus to free you. They wanted to stop you from ever working for the Titan again and make you fall in line with the other Anar.”


    That news had Orhêthurin blink, but she pushed past it. “Your grandmother has long been unhappy with me.”


    Mori opened her mouth as if to argue but sighed before she continued. “Great grandfather?”


    “We separated long ago, but what was between us is old history now.”


    “No, he still loves you,” refuted Mori and paced again. “I asked him to tell me about his wife, and though he didn’t name you, he spoke with love.”


    “Ah, Mori, but that just makes it worse,” replied Orhêthurin, taking in Mori’s disbelief. “Love provides the seasoning for hate’s grandest feasts. I''m sure he remembers that love when we don’t see each other for a time, but the hate becomes a crescendo when we’re in the same room. It rises, ?using those happy times as fuel for its rage: how dare I take that happiness from him? Obviously it was entirely my choices that split us, since he certainly can’t be at fault.”


    Orhêthurin restrained the words when she felt her pain stirring and simply let Mori pace further until she dropped into the chair opposite her. “I want you to sing for me tomorrow.”


    “Any piece in particular?” asked Orhêthurin and raised a glass to take a sip. The taste in the memory was a sweat-sour, a cross between strawberry and passionfruit.


    “Not at the celebration. I want you to perform my awakening,” insisted Mori, and Orhêthurin quickly returned her glass to the table.


    “I believe the plan is for your mother to sing that for you. Don’t you want the best Glinnel to restore your memories?”


    “Exactly!” exclaimed Mori and threw her hands in the air.


    “I can’t hear the music as clearly as I used to, Mori—some registers I can’t hear at all. You might well be better off with someone else singing for you.”


    Mori''s indignant glare drew a smile from Orhêthurin, and her amusement heated Mori’s reply. “What do you mean? You sing beautifully.”


    “I sound so to you, but to me, my singing is merely adequate now. It takes too long to achieve what used to take moments. The vines muffle things, and I have to strain to hear some days,” explained Orhêthurin, the acceptance in her voice made Mori’s complexion pale. “A single note at the right time, empowered the right way, can mean a world of difference. Instead of using a few notes to tip events at their critical point, ?I have to sing for minutes or even hours.”


    “How is that possible?”


    “It draws what it needs from me. In this realm it will only continue to get stronger; one day it will kill me, I’m sure. When reborn without my current powers and skills, I’ll completely be deaf to the realm’s music, a songless Anar.”


    “Can’t you do something?”


    “If I hadn’t empowered them with the destruction of millions of souls, perhaps I might have, but I didn’t pay enough attention to the danger. Doomed by my desire for accountability, it was a fitting trap. It seems the Anar learnt well from the Titan after all,” Orhêthurin mused.


    Mori’s knuckles turn white with strain as her fists tighten by her side. “I still want you to perform my awakening.”


    “It wouldn’t be the perfect Song for you, Mori. I might sing the awakening technically perfect, but that might not be what you need.”


    “Mother can’t sing perfectly for me. She’d sing the perfect Song based on who she expects me to become, not who I am,” refuted Mori. When her pacing brought her close, Mori moved into the chair next to Orhêthurin and leaned against her shoulder. “You listen to me, Ori. Please sing my awakening.”


    “Fine, sit down and have your drink. I’ll make sure your mother is killing mad with me and not you,” sighed Orhêthurin and moved to take a large swallow of the juice.


    “Now, about you training me,” coaxed Mori.


    “Not happening,” Orhêthurin said and flinched as the glass shattered in her grip.


    Mori swallowed, and a quick ripple of music from her cleaned up the mess. “You broke a True Song glass?”


    “I’ve other classes besides Glinnel in my skill set—some add to my strength,” Orhêthurin replied, the truthful lie didn’t rouse even a single note in reaction within her music.


    “One doesn’t physically break that crystal,” countered Mori and picked up her glass to listen to it closely. “You have a loud Song, great grandmother; I can’t hear anyone else in its construction.”


    “Now I’ll have to get a new set,” stated Orhêthurin before she teleported the glasses and carafe away. “And please pick something a little shorter to use.”


    “Ori, why won’t you train me?”


    “Nearly everyone I’ve trained dislikes me to varying degrees, and I’d prefer you not to join that number.”


    “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather learn from,” insisted Mori.


    “With my training, it isn’t about what you think you can accomplish; rather, I’ll push you to the standard I know you can accomplish. No one has ever enjoyed the way I drive students. I have some students that might respect me, but none of them like me, and more than a few learned to hate me,” explained Orhêthurin. “Is it selfish that I want to enjoy your company?”


    “Mother’s instructors don’t include any proficient in weapons or any physical skills,” retorted Mori, and the sour notes in her music caught Orhêthurin’s attention. “They’re all pure musicians or politicians; I need to move something besides my mouth. Please, it will make mother furious! Isn’t that worth it?”


    “No, that''s not what this is about, Mori—it’s about what’s right for you. Since your mother can’t even understand that physical need, I’ll do both,” agreed Orhêthurin and rubbed her hand along an aching mark.


    A hesitant smile crossed Mori’s lips. “Both?”


    Orhêthurin nodded. “I’ll sing your awakening and train you. Though I’ll miss our growing friendship.”


    “I’ll still be your friend,” refuted Mori. “I’ll be your friend forever! I’ll swear it if you don’t believe me.”


    “Don’t make promises you won’t keep, and never rush into them. Friendship isn’t an option until your training is complete. You’ll be my student, and I don’t permit myself friendship with those I teach.”


    “Why not?”


    Orhêthurin gave her a sad smile. “I’m kind to my friends, not to my students. You really will not enjoy yourself.”


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    “Is that why mother hates you?” asked Mori, her tone suddenly curious.


    “No, I refused to teach Vanya or her first husband,” said Orhêthurin. “Though that alone might have contributed to their dislike of me, training certainly contributed to ólneth’s hatred. Which was, I’ll admit, my fault. She wanted me to train her as a reassurance after her father left; I should never have agreed. Instead, my daughter was my first student to end up hating me, though she wasn’t the last.”


    “You never say the king’s name, nor your husbands,” observed Mori and continued at Orhêthurin’s suddenly pain-hardened gaze. “Why did you refuse to teach them?”


    “Honestly, I didn’t like either of them enough to want to spend those hours with them,” admitted Orhêthurin and went for a safe truth. “Vanya still has no interest in blades and her future husband was too interested in me. The selection of royal positions is far too political now, and they were both very good at politics.”


    “He was interested in you?”


    “Centuries before he proposed to Vanya, he’d proposed to me. I turned him down when he tried to propose at a public gathering,” stated Orhêthurin. “See what I mean about love and hate? Though in his case the love was more his ego, and I slighted it in refusing the way I did.”


    “How did you turn him down?”


    Orhêthurin raised her eyebrow and reached absently for a glass that was no longer there. “Any reason for the interrogation this evening?”


    “I’m just getting in my questions while I can; soon I’ll be your student, just following instructions,” Mori said smugly.


    “Brat. I turned him down ?in a very undiplomatic fashion. Few take laughter and being told they’re a foolish child well,” Orhêthurin replied dryly. “I could tell he thought the public setting would trap me into saying yes. Other events of that evening had me furious, and I had no tolerance for his stupidity. I should have killed him on the spot and claimed his rudeness made me lash out; it certainly would have saved me some trouble.”


    “You wouldn’t have,” gasped Mori.


    “No, we have laws against that, but occasionally the ‘what-if’ is nice to consider when the roots are trying to burrow deeper.”


    “Mother is going to announce a royal order,” warned Mori. “I found the Song for their insignia; while they don’t dig into the Soul, they’ll look very similar to your vines.”


    Orhêthurin blinked, and then she started laughing; her laughter only got louder at Mori’s baffled expression.


    “What’s so funny?” asked Mori in a huff after the laughter went on and on.


    “She keeps trying to rewrite history as if I’ll forget it,” declared Orhêthurin. “When I’m ready, then she’ll pay the bill. Until then, I’ll stay my hand, but I’m not sure why she wants to keep adding to the tally.”


    “What do you plan to do to her?”


    Orhêthurin shrugged, and after a moment, grimaced. “I’m sorry. She’s your mother, but it will be something suitable, as she insists on adding to the debt.”


    “How do you see this royal order rewriting history?”


    “She’ll have volunteers wearing something that appears to be my vines, going about duties at her behest. If she has even a dozen scurrying about and winning honours with the court, slowly, it dilutes my rubbing these vines in their faces. How would my vines be any different for those guests who can’t hear the music in them? Given I’ve lately been keeping them wrapped up in white noise, even the Anar will, in time, forget.”


    The disgusted look on Mori’s face caused her golden gaze to blaze. “Two can play at that game. What did you call them that first night you showed them off at court? The Markings of Royal Shame?”


    “Yes.”


    “Good, I know what my demonstration Song will be for the court tomorrow night. Let''s see her spin it when I don the tamed versions and declare my embarrassment at my mother’s part,” Mori said, and within the memory, Amdirlain felt a twinge of recognition again for her reactions.


    “Best speak to a few that don’t normally attend and get some elders there to back up your position,” Orhêthurin suggested, her fingers tracing the table’s edge absently. “They might not like me, but I know a few that could give you advice on ways to sway things your way.”


    The memory shattered, and opening her eyes, Amdirlain found a wriggling piece of the vine in her grasp. Streamlets of blood flowed down her body, but she ignored the mess with her gaze fixed on her hand. The once lifelike fronds that had sat across her palm were gone, replaced with a meshwork of fine white scars. The tattoo ended in a broken stem at her wrist, where the thorn had erupted from her flesh.


    “Was Isa once Mori?”


    Unheeded, the vine’s cutting dropped from her hand, and Amdirlain brushed fingers across the scars. By the time she thought to look for them, the vine''s remains were nowhere in sight, as if they’d never been.


    Quickly testing finger movements found them unaffected and, empowering a Ki Strike, she found no issue hammering it into the stonework. But despite the tests on her arm, she felt a wrongness left behind by the vine’s removal. The area provided her with a sensation of absence that nagged, but without pain or any clue as to its depth.


    Teleport placed her back within her chamber, where she knelt to meditate and cycle Ki. The first cycle caused an icy shock to erupt, and Amdirlain felt the excess Ki draining into the gap. She continued to cycle until the excess ceased to drain away and entered the Mind Palace.


    The lush grassed landscape of her Soul stretched out, now beneath a familiar golden sun. Those figures immediately within sight all lay relaxed upon the grass, the rhythm of their breathing synced to the breeze that played within the long grass. It took only a single thought to reach the figure she believed to represent Orhêthurin. Here the rich grassland hadn’t yet reached, and the figure lay on hard clay, encased in stone and wrapped around with barbed metallic vines. The vines that had wrapped her left arm, now ended in a rough fracture of its stems that wept a dark fluid that gave over a bitter stench. Where the vines had extended was pink scarred flesh instead of rock.


    * * *


    Slipping through stonework as freely as it once had through flesh, the vine cutting continued to fall rather than dissolve. Wrought of a Song and having fed for millennia on Amdirlain’s Soul, it wasn’t anything the stone knew how to handle. It was eventually shunted beyond its limits among the Spire''s energy currents, and the Outlands’ winds carried it far away.


    Roitar’s PoV - Elysium Fields


    His trial, promotion, and even first assignment had already required a considerable change in expectations. His rise to Hound Archon had provided him with a range of new powers, skills, and an array of knowledge. Yet despite all that, he didn’t understand why almost eighty archons secured the area surrounding a golden energy pane like it was a forward military camp. Unless he misunderstood the knowledge he’d gained, the energy from the Gate was a connection to another heavenly Plane.


    The strange symbol on the archons’ clothing at least showed he was in the right place, but none of them wore any armour. Instead, they were barefoot, wearing loose pants, and a shirt in an unfamiliar style. Their visible weapons varied widely, but many had nothing at hand. The majority had a hound-like appearance, similar to his own, but where the pelt he had gained was earthen toned, theirs was a golden brown.


    Wishing Bahamut’s servant had come along to provide an introduction, Roitar forced himself to walk slowly and steadily towards the closest Archon. With nearly a score of the archons focused on him, his skin started prickling with each step he took once he was in bowshot. Continuing on deliberately, a step at a time, no one called out until he was a short stone''s throw away.


    “Traveller, what brings you this way?”


    “I’m to convey a few messages to Ebusuku. Would you be able to put me in contact with her?” asked Roitar. Unsure of their customs, he hoped general politeness would suffice.


    “The Gate here opens within the boundary of our Lady’s Domain, so I’ll need to know more if you want to see her. Who are the messages from?”


    Their placement suddenly made sense, and he almost shuddered at the thought of anyone having direct access to get beyond Lady Opilni’s borders with but a step.


    “Would I be able to gain permission, and an escort, to enter the Lady’s Domain to speak with her? Lady Opilni asked that I deliver a gift in greeting; I’ve got it in my Oath-stone,” Roitar said, touching the necklace at his throat. “Also, Lord Bahamut and Lady Opilni added to the message that one named Amdirlain asked me to pass along.”


    The Archons had seemed relaxed but alert until the strange Elf’s name had left his lips. Its utterance spread like a shock wave through the military force before the Gate. They quickly settled into total silence, and a female Solar appeared before him, clad in golden armour, with mithril outlining the same emblem upon her breastplate, white wings flexed forward, almost as if she wanted to seize him with them. Elven featured, she had skin like blue-white ice, piercing sky-blue eyes, and pitch-black hair. Barely an arm''s length away and over double his height, he had to lean back to meet her gaze and took a stumbling step backwards.


    “Where was she, and what did she look like?”


    Her tone wasn’t unkind or overly demanding, but the Solar’s focus was intense.


    “I met her in the Maze. She appeared like some elven races, but her skin was golden-bronze and her eyes glowed the colour of the Gate behind you. Tattooed vines, with thorns and barbed leaves that ?made her flesh bleed-”


    At the words, the Solar hissed in distress, and her physical presence was nothing compared to the weight of her spirit suddenly clamped around him. An uproar among the archons had her raise a hand to silence those on duty behind her. When they immediately settled down, she focused on him, and her presence drew in until its weight was gone. “My apologies, you caught me—well, all of us—by surprise. You have our thanks for bringing this news. Might I know your name?”


    “Roitar.”


    The Solar shrank to match his height and her wings disappeared before she motioned, as Amdirlain had done, laying a hand flat across her breastplate. It was a simple gesture, but it made Roitar reconsider if Amdirlain had done it to embarrass him. “I’m Sírdhem; whatever news you bring of Amdirlain, I consider myself in your debt. I’ll ask where Ebusuku wishes to speak to you.”


    She didn’t take a step away but simply nodded, and Roitar returned it only for her to smile in amusement.


    “Sorry, I’m getting used to hearing her in my mind without a Message Spell, the fuss among this lot caught her attention,” clarified Sírdhem, and Roitar realised she’d been nodding in response to her Goddess’ instruction, not at him. “She’ll see you at once if you come with me through the Gate.”


    “It’s an honour,” said Roitar.


    The Archons quickly made way for Sírdhem, and Roitar moved to follow respectfully behind her, but Sírdhem waved him to walk alongside. “I won’t bite. You can walk beside me.”


    “Your customs differ,” remarked Roitar. “If I walked alongside you, I’d be declaring us to be equals.”


    “That’s not the case here, but if you’re uncomfortable, ?it''s your choice if you follow or move ahead to the Gate,” replied Sírdhem and moved off. Roitar followed her lead, glad he’d avoided offending her.


    Past the Gate, eight crystal plinths reached high overhead, out of reach of any bow he’d ever fired, but the decorations that glowed atop each burned with ominous power. Ahead, beyond the plinths, a regiment of hound archons occupied a grass field and conducted training drills similar to attacks Amdirlain had unleashed.


    “You’re safe, don’t worry,” Sírdhem said and motioned to the pillar. “Though I’m told they fired warning shots at uninvited guests before the Domain shifted to this Plane. I’ll Teleport us to where Ebusuku asked to meet if that’s alright.”


    “Of course, thank you for the warning,” said Roitar and added an appreciative nod. “Bahamut’s servant just jumped me from official to official when I visited his Domain.”


    “Choices are important to us.”


    “If you don’t mind me asking, how do you know Amdirlain?”


    The relaxed smile Sírdhem bestowed on him aided her reply in taking him off guard. “She set me, and others, free from enslavement in the Abyss.”


    He was still trying to get his mouth to close when he found himself in a clearing with trees towering five or six times his height around its boundary. In the centre was a crystal table with two long benches. On one bench sat an ebony-skinned female with tightly curled short hair, wearing an earthen-toned shirt and pants with weapon harnesses overtop. “Playing games, Sírdhem?”


    “He asked how I knew Amdirlain, so I gave him the cliff notes,” laughed Sírdhem and motioned between him and the female. “Ebusuku, this is Roitar, a messenger of Lord Bahamut, Lady Opilni, and our wayward troublemaker. Roitar, this is Ebusuku, inheritor of Lady Amdirlain’s title and currently Goddess of a bunch of stuff while Miss is in the Maze.”


    “You can tell Sírdhem doesn’t do formality well, it’s new to many of us,” stated Ebusuku, and a child''s musical squeal came from somewhere beyond the meadow’s border. “Lots of newness about this Domain. Please sit down. I’d like to hear about Amdirlain first, but likely Bahamut and Opilni’s messages will be the more straightforward part.”


    “What’s Gail doing?” asked Sírdhem, looking in the squeal''s direction.


    “Farhad is air-walking her through the trees, playing tag with some Catfolk petitioners.”


    Their exchange gave Roitar time to pull himself together to a certain degree, and though his knees didn’t want to cooperate fully, he staggered to the other bench.


    “Amdirlain said she used to be a pseudo-power,” whispered Roitar, and Ebusuku gave him a sympathetic smile.


    “To be fair, she was. It''s complicated, and if she didn’t explain it, I’ll leave it at that,” Ebusuku replied. “How did you two meet?”


    “I was undertaking a trial to keep my memories through my promotion from a Petitioner to Celestial,” explained Roitar. “I’d fought a few things in the Maze and was slowly exploring the passageway. Another pair of large hounds attacked, and Amdirlain killed them in a blur.”


    “I believe she would manage that even as a child.”


    “She wasn’t a child, but ?an adult Elf, and far too naked,” blurted Roitar and slapped a hand across his muzzle.


    Ebusuku''s lips twitched, but Sírdhem showed no restraint and roared with laughter.


    “Sorry, that came out wrong. I tried to give her my shirt and armour, but Amdirlain refused them and said I had no chance of getting her to wear it,” stammered Roitar, glancing between them.


    “It''s alright, Roitar,” reassured Ebusuku. “You said she had a message for me. Why don’t we start with that, and then you can tell us more?”


    “Amdirlain said to let you know that she’d get free when she can and also that she’s heard your voice; each time, it sounded like you were addressing her.”


    “That’s all?”


    “All that’s important,” replied Roitar, and Ebusuku fixed him with a knowing smile.


    “What did you do together in the Maze?”


    “She explained a friend of hers had been through it and freed ?children from it, but at first, I wasn’t sure if she was trying to trick me. When I asked her to show me the way out, she immediately agreed and led me to what she called the corridor of choices. I’d expected her to ask again for help, but she just provided me information on the Maze and left the choice to me.”


    Ebusuku listened without interruption while Roitar detailed their explorations and the release of the children, simply nodding her understanding at various points in the story.


    “So most of those you could see swore service to your Lady, I’m sure that made her happy,” observed Ebusuku.


    “She was glad they got to safety, regardless of deciding to swear to her. Part of the gift is a greeting to yourself, and another she’d like you to pass onto Amdirlain when she gets free,” explained Roitar, and placed a small bundle wrapped in dark cloth on the table.


    “What else did Amdirlain ask you to convey to me?”


    “It’s not important; I''d prefer not to mention it,” pleaded Roitar. “My lady thought it was unsuitable given what work I had Amdirlain’s help to accomplish.”


    “I’m that friend Amdirlain spoke of, and I can guess what she asked you to pass along. She wanted me to help Opilni, didn’t she?” probed Ebusuku.


    Roitar nodded reluctantly, unwilling to lie. “Yes.”


    “Roitar, I don’t consider myself a Goddess; I’m merely the custodian of Amdirlain’s Mantle. She passed it to me to keep her people safe from an unpleasant Deity. All you’ve seen in this Domain is her doing, not mine, and when I can, I’ll be returning her Mantle to her,” declared Ebusuku. Hammered by yet another shock, Roitar’s jaw almost fell open again. “Your Goddess isn’t asking for a favour from me. Amdirlain has already said to help her, so let her know I’d like to assist her in gaining faithful on another world besides your own.”


    Throughout his tale, Sírdhem had remained standing and simply listened. “Thank you again for this news, Roitar. Ebusuku, since I’ve been to Letveri, should I see Roitar back to Opilni’s Domain and open a Gate to help some of her celestials reach it?”


    “He has a few other messages he needs to pass on first,” Ebusuku reminded her before Roitar got his thoughts together.


    Despite all the shocks this assignment brought on, he again found himself startled when Ebusuku’s tone grew firm. Fortunately for his nerves, he wasn’t the one in trouble. “Amdirlain, I hope you''re not planning to rescue everyone you find suitable from the Maze.”


    “Lord Bahamut used to deal directly with the Titan; perhaps he can learn more. As for getting others free, I’d bet that’s what she intends since she was giving away keys,” offered Sírdhem. “How many did you free together, Roitar?”


    “Fifty-eight, of whom forty-one swore service to my Lady, plus there were scores of keys that disappeared in chambers where Amdirlain said she saw the auras of others,” replied Roitar. “She had to have hundreds of keys wrapped in that bundle by the time we were done, more from the corridor of choices.”


    “How long have you been out of the Maze?” asked Ebusuku.


    Roitar turned at the sounds of roaring spreading through the woods and realised the noise was cheers of celebration.


    “A few weeks at least, Lady Ebusuku. Unfortunately, it took time for my Lady Opilni to contact Lord Bahamut. While I knew his name in life, my Lady had no prior contact with him or his servants and wanted to ensure we did not offend.”


    A Catfolk Petitioner with black and dark-green spotted fur leapt down from a lower branch on the clearing’s edge and, after bowing, met Ebusuku’s gaze. “The Archon’s tale brought me from my dreaming, Lady Ebusuku. Might I see if I can carry your concern to Lady Amdirlain and learn if she heard you? Perhaps I might also help her gain more keys by walking the Maze with her and thus speed her journey home.”


    “Thank you,” Ebusuku said, and the Petitioner vanished.


    “How many more promotions do you have?” asked Sírdhem curiously.


    “At present, only a few that require any sort of trial,” admitted Ebusuku. “But I’m not planning to send more to ‘help’ Amdirlain. It would appal her if that was my reason, such a risk to a Soul in her care for minimal gain. I gave him the promotion via a trial because he chose that path, and I could help him ?follow his choice.”


    Sírdhem’s eyebrows lifted, and she tilted her head, caught in an obvious reconsideration of her thoughts. “What do you expect?”


    “The Catfolk’s name is Rasha. He’s been sharing weapon training with others since he arrived. Given his prestige classes in life, I expect he’ll likely change into an Angel after completing the trial. As for Amdirlain, I expect she’ll give him a dose of her mother-hen mode, and that she’ll come out of the Maze when she’s achieved whatever goal is keeping her there.” explained Ebusuku.