In which a sprite is summoned

Drawing again from his pack the stones which he had used last night in Bel, Raphael laid them in a circle on ground. Inside it he placed a wooden bowl, carved with runes, to which he added half a day’s worth of rations. Reserving one stone, and cautioning us to stay well back, he sat before the circle, legs crossed and sword across his knees.
 
After only a few minutes, a tiny glowing figure shot across the clearing and hovered over the bowl. Calmly, Raphael placed the final stone and completed the circle. The little figure was not more than six inches tall and had bright white wings which were moving too fast to see the motion as anything more than a blur. When he alighted for a moment on the edge of the bowl, I could see that he was male, and young, at least to look at. He spoke in a high, piping voice, in a language which I did not recognise, beyond the fact that it carried the cadence of the elves. Raphael replied in the same tongue, and I recalled that he had named this language sylvan, when he had spoken it in Althia’s garden.
 
Switching to common, Raphael apologised to the fey, for such it was, for the poor quality of the food he had provided. He reminded the little figure that he had offered better fare in Drynna over the two weeks we had been staying there, and promised that he would do so again, when he could. At that, I felt some of the group shift uneasily - so, I was not the only one who had been unaware of this previous arrangement.
 
Raphael introduced courteously us to the fey, whose name was Moonflake, and explained that he had first met him at the fairy circle near to Althia’s cottage. What did Moonflake know about Altria, he asked. Well, said the fey, she was nice, always left out food. This sounded like a broadly positive review, although if true, it meant that Althia had lied to us about the circle. Raphael then asked him straight out whether or not Althia was a hag, and he said, without any hesitation, that she was. There was a chorus of sharp intakes of breath at that.
 
The question was asked, not by Raphael I think, but I forget by who, perhaps Arin, as to whether Althia was a good or a bad fae. At this the little creature seemed non-plussed, flitting from one side of the circle and back in consternation at not being able to answer the question.
 
Although he had mostly been speaking in common, after the initial exchange at least, now Raphael lapsed into sylvan, I am guessing to rephrase the question.
 
Are there other hags near here, he asked. Yes, came back the answer, three hags! This exchange switched back and forth between common and sylvan, which at the time I thought little enough about, but it turned out that some people had read much more of significance into it. All I can say, is that at the time, it didn’t strike me as suspicious, merely as an aid to better communication.
 
The three hags were described as the one where they had met (Althia, one presumes), the one just north of here (who was confirmed as Berithia), and a third, unnamed, described as dead, but not stopped. My guess would be that was the so-called banshee we had fought the night before.
 
Raphael thanked the little fey with great seriousness, invited him to eat his fill, and then drew aside a stone, opening the circle. At once, Moonflake grabbed as much food as he could carry in mouth and hands, and shot at lightning-quick speed out among the trees.
 
It had been a strange ceremony to witness, but there was nothing sinister to it, as far as I could see. The fey, although trapped by the circle, had not appeared to be in distress, and if anything had seemed to be rather enjoying the exchange.
 
Enessa spoke first, asking whether these fae were common in Raphael’s homeland. Common enough, yes, he replied. They were known as sprites. If she hadn’t encountered them before it was probably because the elves were closer to the fae than the drow were. I have no idea of the truth of this, but Enessa seemed to find it reasonable.
 
Arin was looking curiously at the remaining stones of the circle, his brow furrowed. 'I don’t recognise any of this as the Moonweaver’s magic’ he said, thoughtfully, ‘your Lady seems to grant you very different gifts from those of other paladins’, gesturing at me as he spoke. It was said quietly, and without any real challenge behind the words, but still, Raphael became visibly flustered at the comment. He started to gather the stones up quickly, and put them into his pack. As he did so, he said, ‘Well, it’s true, the moonblades can have unusual effects, and this is a great and powerful weapon, granted me by my Queen.’. Listening, I caught his eye as he straightened up from fastening his pack, and gave him a flat, steady look, holding his gaze for a long moment. There was something ringing false here. Neither of us cared to have the conversation there and then, but, very soon, that turned out to matter not at all.
 
We all discussed the possible value, and the best use of the information which Moonflake had provided. For myself, I was quite wary about the level of confidence which Raphael seemed to place in Moonflake’s word, given the brevity of their acquaintance, but since he and I had apparently had the same goal here, to speak to Barithia and question her, before resolving how to proceed (rather than launching some sort of ambush, as others had suggested), I did not press the issue.
 
Zeni, who had seemed to be struggling to weigh something in her own mind for some minutes now, ever since Arin had raised the question of whether the Moonweaver was the true source of the power of Raphael’s circle, and who was looking very unhappy indeed, suddenly seemed to come to a decision. Stepping forward, she fired a rapid string of questions at Raphael, most of which boiled down to ‘this seems incredibly suspicious, why should we trust you?’ I think that everyone was taken off guard. Sabali looked from Zeni to Raphael and back again, clearly confused, and maybe even conflicted, by what was happening, loyal to Zeni, but fond of Raphael as well. Enessa and Wind seemed surprised, as though before this they had barely registered that anything out of the ordinary was going on, but Arin and even Orlando, were stony-faced, nodding slowly at Zeni’s questions.
 
I could see well enough that Raphael was hiding something, probably something important. That much was obvious from his manner, but still, I too was very surprised by this sudden accusation. Did Zeni know something more, or could see something that I could not? I was aware of Orlando shifting his stance, loosening his coat so that Bayou would be more readily accessible, and glancing to me for my reaction to all this. That was a sobering moment. Surely there was no way that this could actually come to violence? I didn’t think that it could, but then Orlando is often a better judge of such matters than me, and certainly you could have cut the tension with a knife. I freed my sword arm to swing loosely at my side, but shook my head very slightly at Orlando, and said nothing as yet. If Raphael had secrets, as he evidently did, then in my opinion, this was not the time or the place to air them. If others had something to say though, perhaps it was better said now than to let suspicion poison our hearts when we were likely headed into a dangerous fight.
 
Wind stepped forward, coming close to Raphael (almost uncomfortably close, as is often her wont), and said something flippant which I think was intended to lighten the mood. That it failed to do so is an understatement.
 
Taking a half step back, Raphael, his eyes flicking to the stern faces of Zeni and Arin, and then to Orlando and myself, noting, perhaps, the subtle sense of readiness despite my efforts to keep my expression calm and neutral, lifted his empty hands in a placating gesture. ‘Before anything happens that we might regret’ he said ‘I am going to lay down my sword’. He clearly shared Orlando’s sense that violence might not be beyond the realms of possibility. I found it hard to believe how quickly the mood had shifted. Was there something about the summoning that I had not understood?
 
Sabali looked miserable at this, and urged everyone to be calm. Zeni, who had been so full of fire a moment ago, seemed surprised at the furore she had provoked. Stepping back and speaking more quietly, she said that she had no interest in starting a conflict, but that she found it very suspicious that parts of the conversation with Moonflake had taken place in Sylvan, which no-one but Raphael could speak.
 
Raphael, now holding his sword belt unbuckled in his hands, the blade sheathed and the hilt deliberately pointed away, defended himself from this implied charge of secret communications. He had, he said, simply asked Moonflake to speak in common, that we might all hear his words, rather than in his native sylvan, which was the language in which they usually conversed. He looked to me for verification that this had been the case when I had heard them speak by Althia’s cottage some weeks ago. I nodded my assent, although I was thinking as I did so about how he had warned me then that the fae were not to be trusted.
 
‘My concern’ said Raphael ‘is that in Althia, we’ve learned that someone we thought was an ally may not be…’.
 
Orlando cut him off at that, with a curt ‘Well, we just don’t want to make that same mistake again.’ and nodded at the ground by Raphael’s feet. Raphael, as if remembering a task that had slipped his mind placed the sword slowly down, still in its scabbard, and straightened up, keeping his hands visible and open at his sides. I wish that I could tell you whether this whole gesture was some sort of careful performance designed to make him seem more vulnerable, and therefore win sympathy, or if it was done out of a genuine fear of attack. Both possibilities seemed outlandish, and both made me feel a little sick, in their own different ways.
 
To my surprise, Orlando continued, his voice mild, but focused. His point, essentially, was that it was rather convenient the way that things were working out, with Raphael hypothesising the hag, and then calling on a witness to verify his suspicions, speaking to that witness in a language no-one else could understand, perhaps directing him in what to say.
 
I was surprised to hear Orlando so sceptical, but then again, he is a better judge than I am about when it is wise to start to look at a situation sideways, and if I could see that Raphael had secrets, then certainly he could as well. This particular argument though, personally I had my doubts about.
 
Raphael seemed to think himself on safe ground as well, and answered confidently enough, explaining that the elves and other elder folk have a long connection with the fae. It was the same account that he had given me back in Althia’s garden, and I saw no more reason to doubt it now than I had done then.
 
Both Sabali and Enessa, clearly sympathetic and generally keen that the situation be resolved, but without necessarily following, or even maybe caring about, the details of the accusations made, urged Raphael to share whatever secrets he was carrying, so that we could all just move on.
 
Raphael bristled a bit at that, and I could understand why. He pointed out that we have barely known each other three weeks as yet, and that many of us have a past that we might not gladly own every part of at first meetings. He glared rather pointedly at Wind here, although I thought that she would gladly regale him with every clever trick and sneaky deal she had ever done, had he the patience to hear it.
 
He concluded by asking that we judge him on his actions, rather than on this one conversation with the sprite, however we might feel about it. That gave everyone pause I think, for Raphael’s actions do indeed speak loudly in his defence. Even Zeni, who had been the one to cast the first cloud of suspicion seemed to reconsider her position. She nodded, acknowledging the justice of the claim, and made a creditable effort to draw a line under the matter there. Would we be better off if it had worked, I don’t know.
 
In an attempted gesture of reconciliation, Zeni bent to retrieve the sword and return it to its owner. Before she could touch it, Raphael gave a sharp exclamation and reached down as though to forestall her, but her hand remained in the air above the weapon, hovering uncertainly. ‘It is a magical sword which is attuned to me, and it would do you no good to touch it’ Raphael explained quickly, all the nervousness returned to his voice. Zeni shrugged at that, straightened, and gestured to the sword, indicating that as she far as she was concerned Raphael could take it at his leisure.
 
Sensing that perhaps not everyone was as willing as Zeni to leave things as they stood, now that they had begun, Raphael tried again to defend his connection with the fae. It was hardly unusual, he said, for elven folk to have such associations, given the long history of closeness between Syngorn and the Faewild. He looked to Enessa, asking whether the drow too had such attachments, and in answer she allowed a few tongues of blue and green flame to play across her fingers. ‘This, I believe, is fae’ she said, snuffing it out with a twist of her hand.
 
Sabali tried again to smooth the waters, by suggesting that we all have some darker aspects to our natures and that this was not so strange, and, this time, he met with a little more success. Raphael said something then which has stuck with me, that he had already done well to trust us with so much. It was an interesting choice of words, in the circumstances.
 
Orlando, as I suspect Raphael may perhaps have observed, is often moved by an appeal to privacy, secrets being something of a sensitive issue for him as well, and this argument did seem to hit home. Acknowledging that it would be hypocritical of him to press too hard into the business of another, he asked only that Raphael consider the true value of his secrets, especially if they might bring danger down on our heads. At this Raphael nodded earnestly, and Orlando finally relaxed his stance, seemingly satisfied that the moment of confrontation had passed, at least for now.
 
I was relieved to see it, but not so sure that it was over. After all, nothing we had heard seemed to touch on the heart of what was making people uneasy, or indeed on the source of Raphael’s obvious nerves. So what if he had connections to the fae? He’d hardly tried to hide that, yet he was certainly hiding something.
 
Even so, whatever truths might still lay hidden, I had no wish to continue the conversation, if such it could be called, in this style. Everyone has the right to speak their mind, of course, and I was not about to stop them, but everything about this felt wretched.
 
I looked at Arin, and saw that he was frowning. I think that, like me, he suspected that we had not yet got close to the real trouble. Worthy devotee of Ioun as he is, that clearly did not sit well with him. Speaking for the first time since the parley had started, he walked up to Raphael, stood before him and looked him dead in the eye. His words, as near as I can remember them, were as follows - ‘We are all allowed our secrets, but there are inconsistencies in your story which I find troubling. You have done nothing to provoke my ire as yet, but I am watching you.’
 
Raphael’s face is always hard to read, but I think this last judgement troubled him much more than the various specific charges, which he had batted away plausibly enough, if not to everyone’s satisfaction. He glanced around the group, trying to judge how things stood, but when he met my eyes, I looked away. He was lying, and we both knew it, but even so, this treatment had been unworthy.
 
Turning back to Arin, Raphael then made a rather extraordinary offer. He would, so he said, answer one question truthfully now, and then if we had a chance later perhaps we could discuss it all further. Now, it’s hard to know for sure the spirit in which this was intended. It may be, and I very much hope that this was the case, that Raphael, seeing that the questions asked so far had done little to change the underlying dynamic of suspicion, offered this as a sincere invitation to address whatever darker fears people might still be holding back, and to provide what reassurance he could. On the other hand, a more sceptical eye might see it as an admission that he had not been truthful up to this point, and yet in the same breath, was offering to vouch for the veracity of whatever he was going to say next.
 
Whichever was the case, it seemed to me that it would be better to save any further discussion for a less stressful time, once we had all had a chance to gather our thoughts and take time to reflect. For myself, I was in no hurry to conclude a judgement. But then, perhaps it is only that my mind works more slowly than some, and I needed a chance to catch up with what others could already see clearly.
 
Raphael gathered up his sword, fastening the belt around his waist and settling the weapon on his hip as he walked a little way off. The rest of us stood, feeling, for my part at least, rather awkward. I had no great wish to play my allotted part in whatever new game this was. The reactions of the others were varied - Enessa seemed equally disinclined to participate, although for reasons of her own, no doubt. Wind had a great number of questions ready, none of them terribly relevant to the current circumstances (although I must admit that some of them did raise my curiosity). Zeni declared herself satisfied with the answers she had already received and, perhaps, a little regretful about what she had started, she left the conversation at that.
 
That left Orlando, Sabali and Arin, who discussed earnestly what they should ask. I pointed out that if Raphael was truly a liar, as they supposed, then there was no real merit in this proposal. Anything he told us now would be suspect, and would only serve to muddy the water further. Since we all agreed that his actions spoke well for him, then for now at least we should let them speak, as he had asked us, each drawing our own conclusions, and be done with it.
 
However, after some discussion, it was agreed that all three were very doubtful about Raphael’s claim to follow the Moonweaver, and so they resolved to ask him who he truly served.
 
It was a radical charge, and it gave voice to a suspicion that I had so far hesitated to put into words, even to myself. I felt a weight form in the pit of my stomach at the thought of it, but I had to admit that it made some sense. The problem would remain, however, that if we discovered that he had indeed lied about his status as a servant of the Moonweaver, which, after all, formed the foundation of everything else that he had told us, then what was the point in encouraging him to speak further? Inviting more lies at this point seemed to me more likely to undermine any future trust than to build it.
 
I looked over at Raphael, and saw that his head was bent in conversation with Enessa, who was nodding sympathetically at something that he had said. She rose as we approached and sat off to one side, watching curiously, her hands buried in Ussi’s thick fur, and her bow within easy reach. I wondered what she made of all this fuss over the significance of one sort of magic or another. Not much, I guessed.
 
Arin took the lead now, as was proper in the circumstances. If anyone had the right to ask for such a confession, it was a priest of knowledge. His face was grave, but not unkind, as he looked down at Raphael, who came quickly to his feet. Raphael’s slender frame seemed slightly bowed with the pressure of the situation, and the set of his shoulders was tense. He glanced at the holy signs embroidered on my surcoat, and Arin’s, and then, just for a second, at the sword slung at my belt. If I had not known better, I might have thought that he still feared that the worst might happen, and that I would be a part of it. I hoped very much that he did not think that. It seemed absurd that he should feel threatened by me, or by any of us, when we have fought side by side so many times now.
 
‘We don’t need to know all your secrets’ Arin said, in measured, even tones, ‘but we must know, who truly is your mistress? For I do not believe that it is the Moonweaver.’
 
Raphael’s face grew a shade paler at these words, and he swallowed hard before answering, his gaze locked on Arin’s face and almost radiating sincerity. I should say that if this was a performance then it was an exceptional one, but then I knew well enough that the devil, were he there to be found, would most likely be in the details, or in what was not said at all.
 
‘My Goddess is not the Moonweaver, she is the Raven Queen. She who stands watch at the borders between the living and the dead.’
 
Steeled, as I had imagined that I was, not to react to what was most likely going to be a further pack of lies, even so I could not help but feel a brief surge of intense relief. If this was true, then there was no shame in serving the Black Lady. Her followers walked a hard and lonely path, no doubt, but their work was necessary and honourable. If he truly were a knight of the Raven Queen, then we had no reason to quarrel. But, then… why the secrecy?
 
Apparently anticipating this question, Raphael continued hurriedly ‘I have travelled in this guise because the Raven Queen’s followers are not welcomed in society. Talk of death, or her servants, makes people uncomfortable after all.’ He continued along the same lines for a little longer, until Arin nodded, satisfied for now at least.
 
I thought about this account, and initially I found it unlikely. In Vasselheim, the followers of the Raven Queen live openly, and are honoured. Their ways are strange, and people are often wary of them, it is true, but they are accepted fully as a part of the city. As indeed, death, and passage beyond the veil, are acknowledged as integral parts of life. On the other hand, here in Tal’Dorei I have noticed that things can be different. People often choose to do their best to ignore the reality and inevitability of death, and so the Dark Queen’s men and women are often feared and even shunned. It would be a hard life here for any solitary priest or knight, and perhaps the temptation to wear a false cloak to gain a measure of acceptance might at times be hard to overcome.
 
One thing that we know for sure is that Raphael has been lying from the day that I met him on the road to Drynna. For how long before that he has kept up this ruse I do not know. Lies, in my experience, almost always cause more problems than they solve, but a lie in itself is no great sin (unless the liar has of his own will sworn himself to a different standard of course). The evil comes when the lie is intended to do harm, or does harm carelessly. Now, this lie is a deep one, and has a huge potential to do harm, but Raphael has done nothing, to my knowledge, to disgrace the Moonweaver’s name, or to cast doubt on the conduct of her people. Quite the reverse. Since I have known him he has always behaved like a true knight.
 
What then to make of this story of the Raven Queen? Hard to say. He has power from somewhere, that’s for sure. A lot of power. I doubt that any one of the rest of us would be a match for him one on one. If he is a sworn paladin, or a priest, of the Raven Queen, then all is well. His story of travelling incognito, wrapped up in falsehoods to gain the simple grace of welcome, I have some doubts about, but then, I have never tried to walk such a friendless road myself, so who am I to judge? The ways of the Mistress of Darkness have ever been obscure and shrouded, after all, and the work of her servants difficult and dangerous.
 
However, I fear that it is not so simple. My foremost concern at this point, is that the power he wields may come, in fact, from some other source. Such power typically comes with a price. At its best, the price is one that is a joy to pay - for instance, the power which springs from my own holy oath is fed by adherence to principles which it is my honour to uphold. Arin’s strength is granted him by Ioun for a similarly worthy offering, I have no doubt. But I know very well that there are powers which will exact a far less wholesome tribute in exchange for some portion of their strength. Even the best of men may be lured into such traps. If Raphael’s power is not divine at all, as I strongly suspect that it is not, then what is it? If he is not bound by sacred oath, or dedicated to worship as a priest, then what has he given of himself to earn that power; if the blade was not a gift of the Moonweaver, then where is it from?
 
------
 
Having drawn a line under the fraught subject of Raphael’s possible allegiances, for the moment at least, the discussion turned back to how to deal with Barithia, and the whole question of the hags.
 
Orlando, his mind seemingly jogged by something in the conversation, recalled a rather chilling account he once heard about how new hags are created, although couldn’t vouch for its accuracy. Apparently, when a hag wants to reproduce, she steals a child, either a newborn babe, or even one yet in its mother’s womb. She consumes this infant, taking it into her own body, and in time she herself gives birth. The creature that emerges from this process is a changeling of sorts. It appears human (or of whatever race the original child was born into) until its 13th birthday, and indeed the child is often returned to the unknowing parents to be raised by them in that time. When it turns 13, the child transforms into a hag, identical in appearance to the one that had spawned it.
 
This was a pretty dark tale, but it was hard to know it was even partly true. In its favour, it would account for Althia and Barithia’s appearances being identical, and perhaps also for the transformation of the spirit’s features as it had died. Moonflake had also referred to the three as sisters, and perhaps these were the offspring of one ‘parent’ hag. Alternatively, they could be mother and daughters of course, or perhaps even represent three such generations.
 
If Barithia had taken a child in this way, then that certainly would be a crime which would demand judgement, but, as yet, we had no conclusive evidence than she had done anything of the sort. This was just one of the growing list of things which we would need to know more about before we would have a chance of understanding how best to help to mend this situation.
 
Some members of the group remained in favour of speaking with Barithia, even though we now had reason to think that she was a hag, but others argued for an immediate attack, or for a ruse to draw her out into the open where she could be killed more easily. Raphael cautioned in any event against telling her our names, or accepting food or drink from her hand, or even entering her dwelling as a guest, should we later mean to do her harm.
 
I listened carefully to all of this discussion, and came to a resolution of my own, or perhaps it might be more accurate to say that I came to a realisation. Given how recent events had worked out, I knew that I needed to speak out more strongly, and if I could, to at least set some boundaries on what was happening.
 
This was not very easy for me. I have always preferred to walk my own path, and to allow others to walk theirs. Offering help or mending harms whenever I can, of course, but not presuming to direct their steps, unless some wrong demanded justice. But now, it seems, that may no longer be enough. If I am to travel further with others, not of the church, then I will need to find a new way to navigate such matters. Perhaps I should have spoken up sooner than this, I don’t know, but then, my mind has always needed time to work things through, and this was only now becoming clear to me.
 
I will set it all out for you here, as frankly as I can, and to the best of my recall, and then you can be the judge. I truly wish that you were here, to tell me if you think I did well or ill.
 
In summary, at least, this is what I tried to say. That there had been far too many lies already, and that, at this point, with matters as they now lay, I would stand for no more falsehoods. No more incitements either, and no attacks without good cause. If we had to fight then we would do so, of course, and bravely, I had no doubt. But, until that time we should deal with Barithia, or with anyone else for that matter, honestly, and in good faith. If it was at all possible (and if she did not attack us on sight), then we needed to talk openly with her first, before anything else could be decided. If I had to, then I would go alone to meet her, but either way, she must be given the chance to speak.
 
As I spoke, my confidence grew stronger that this was the right path, and yet, I could see that I would need the goodwill of everyone here if I were to have any chance of success. If I led Barithia into a parley, and then she was betrayed by an unprovoked strike by one of my comrades, then that stain would be on my conscience. This was new ground to me, placing my honour into the hands of others, and I was not at all sure what to make of the feelings it evoked. I had trusted these people with my life several times now, and they had not let me down, but this required a different sort of faith.
 
People were looking at me then, a bit surprised, I think, by the finality in my tone. I was somewhat uncomfortable under their gaze, but I stood my ground, and they seemed to accept my words, or at least to realise that I was not going to change my mind. Raphael again repeated his caution about the revealing of names, and the other matters, and I nodded in agreement that there would be wisdom in taking these precautions at least.
 
We set out to cover the last short distance to Berithia’s house, and stopped at the edge of the wide clearing in which it stood. It was a single dwelling, built on stilts in the mud of a shallow pool, much like the homes that we had seen in Bel, although of much sturdier construction, the wood weathered and hardened. There were a set of steps leading up to a wide veranda on three sides of the house, with a door on the left hand side from where we stood.
 
On the walk to this place, from where we had fought the eelhounds, my heart had been beating fast, and I had felt my stomach churning with nerves. A lot was wrong here, and it seemed that Barithia was at the heart of things. A judgement would be needed, one way or another. This was exactly the sort of thing which I had been sent out into the world to do, but now, I doubted that I was ready. Looking with honesty at my own heart, I had to acknowledge that I was afraid of Barithia, and of what she might do, afraid that I would be unable to help her to find her way back into the light, if that were even possible, and afraid at the same time of drawing my comrades into danger by insisting that we try to reason with a potential monster.
 
And yet. Now that we were actually here, standing before the cottage, I felt a renewed sense of clarity and purpose which gave me strength. Making this attempt to hear her side of the story was the right thing to do, whether or not it succeeded.
 
Here, it was agreed, we would part company for a little while at least. I was prepared, as I had said, to go up to the house on my own, leaving the others to observe the outcome and then, if it did not go well, to act accordingly, as they saw fit. I knew, after all, that many of them, and Enessa in particular, I thought, judged that this plan to speak to a possible hag in earnest was unwise, even foolhardy. But, in the end, and to my relief, I did not have to face Barithia alone.
 
It was Raphael, his tone unusually subdued and diffident, who offered to join me, if I were willing to accept his company. He seemed almost hesitant to ask, as if half-expecting a sharp refusal. I said that of course I wanted him there, if he was prepared to take the risk of it. After all, he knew more than any of the rest of us about the fae, and from what I had seen so far, he was the most likely of my companions to actually try to prevent a conflict before it started. He looked visibly relieved when I agreed, and I reflected that perhaps he had read more into my earlier silence than merely an unwillingness to reach a hasty judgement under difficult conditions.
 
Arin too, volunteered to come with us, and I felt a lot better again at that. Should a conflict prove unavoidable, we would be a formidable trio, and one well trained and prepared to face an unholy foe if that is what we faced. The others would remain outside, hidden amongst the trees or swamp weeds, ready to launch ranged attacks if needed, or to run, I supposed, if the situation looked hopeless. Before we parted ways, I spoke quickly and quietly to Orlando, asking him to see to it that Zeni made her peace with Melora, if this all went poorly. He tipped his hat in acknowledgement, and flashed that warm and reassuring smile of his, as he retreated to his chosen hiding place among the rushes.
 
And so, we approached the steps to the cottage, weapons stowed and shields slung onto packs. I hope that we looked like what we were, a peaceful embassy, and not a raiding party. Before we set foot on the wooden boards, Arin and I took a moment to cast prayers for protection, and to sense any magic or unholy workings in the place.
 
I had raised my hand to knock, when a voice came from within. Althia’s voice, or so it seemed. She spoke in friendly enough tones, telling us that the door was open. Drawing it back, and looking in, I could see a simple room, with a table and chair, and various papers and other domestic items in their places. At the far end of the room, a woman who looked exactly like Althia sat, and smiled kindly in apparent welcome. I extended my divine sense, looking for any signs of undead, like the spectre we had fought at Bel, but I found nothing out of the ordinary.
 
The woman acknowledged that she was indeed Barithia, and invited us to step into her home. It was a courteous invitation, and to ignore it felt churlish, but, remembering the cautions about the fae, I remained outside. I apologised for my rudeness, but gave her the candid explanation I had been warned not to enter, and that I dared not disregard such counsel. She narrowed her eyes at that, but said nothing. I said that we wished only to speak with her, and asked whether she might be willing to step outside to talk with us for a few minutes. She laughed at that, saying that it would be unwise in the extreme for her to set foot beyond her door. She said that she could feel the eyes of the marksmen on her already, and I had to admit the logic in what she said. It did not make sense for her to expose herself to danger when she did not need to.
 
We agreed to speak as we were, she inside, and us beyond the door. She asked us why we had come, and I explained that we had visited the village of Bel, and that there they had told us about her. I also mentioned the recent deaths there, and the visit of the banshee last night. I was rather wary about introducing this topic, if indeed the spectre had once been her sister, but she clearly knew all about it already. ‘Well, you have put a stop to that, I hear’ she said, and her voice sounded somewhat caustic, but not exactly angry. More like bitterly resigned perhaps, maybe even sorrowful. I took that as a hopeful sign, because the spirit we had dispatched had truly been in agony, that had been clear even in the short time we had encountered it. If she had loved her sister, then to see her suffer like that must have been appalling. I hoped that Barithia could see that we had done the spectre no wrong by ending such an tormented existence, and I thought that maybe she could.
 
I spoke next about the city of Drynna, and the plague which was causing its people so much unhappiness. At that her expression changed, becoming much harder, the bitterness now clearly stamped on her features. ‘Good!’ she almost spat. This was disturbing, to say the least, but I stayed as calm as I could, and simply asked her why she would say that, when so many innocent lives might be lost if nothing could be done to help them.
 
She surprised me then by asking how old I was. It seemed like a complete non-sequitur, and I hoped very much that this was not another piece of personal information that it was unwise to share with the fae. I glanced at Raphael, but his expression gave me no obvious guidance. At that, and seeing no reasonably polite alternative, I owned to my thirty four summers. ‘So young!’ she exclaimed, and I couldn’t tell if she was mocking me or not. ‘Your accent is not from here either… Vasselheim I would judge’ and I inclined my head to acknowledge the accuracy of her guess. ‘So’ she concluded, ‘‘you won’t know then, what happened here, when the dragons came?’
 
Now, perhaps you know more than I do about this, but I was utterly lost for a moment, until I remembered that some twenty years before, when I had been barely more than a child, chromatic dragons had laid waste to parts of Tal’Dorei, and great battles had been fought in many places on this side of the sea. I knew only the barest outline of this history, and nothing at all about what had passed in this distant corner of the land.
 
I shook my head, apologising for my ignorance. ‘Ask them!’ she replied, ‘ask them what we did, and what they promised us, and now they have the gall to call us monsters! And you tell me that they are good? Ask them in Drynna, what they have done to us..’ She seemed to grow melancholy again at that, and to tail off into her own thoughts. Her emotions were erratic, and her mind seemed scattered, fractured perhaps by whatever pain she was trying to give voice to now.
 
I promised that I would indeed ask them in Drynna about what had happened (and so I will), but added as gently as I could that Drynna was a week’s journey away, maybe more, and that perhaps, for the sake of convenience, she might tell me herself what had occurred. The story she told was disjointed and hard to follow, but not wholly an invention, if I am any judge.
 
‘When they needed our help, when the dragons came, we gave it, we lent our magics to their defence in exchange for their promises! Who saved them then? Who protected their homes? We did. It was us. But in the end their promises were worth nothing. You see what they have done to us now….they say that we are the monsters…and then again perhaps we are...’
 
Broken and twisted as her words were, a great sense of wrong, of injustice even, was clearly threaded through them. But, that sense of injury, even if justified as it may perhaps have been, had clearly festered over the years until Barithia could no longer distinguish between those who actually had committed the offence, and those innocents who were now living in Drynna, even including the many children, and even adults, who were far too young to have had any active part in whatever had occurred twenty years before.
 
I could see that Barithia’s mind was quite far gone in trauma, maybe even in madness, but still I held out a small hope that if we could show her that we were able to understand the injustice which she and her sisters had suffered, then perhaps we could help her to see that inflicting pain on further innocents was not the way to remedy it. If we could guide her to make peace with what had happened, hard as that might be, then perhaps she would agree to leave Drynna and its people alone, and could even herself find a measure of healing. It seemed a slim hope, but still a possible one - she was offering a rationale here, after all, not just indiscriminate malevolence.
 
Before I could marshall the arguments however, she stood, and another emotional sea change seemed to sweep her features. Speaking with resolution now, she continued ‘Whatever happens now, my time here is at an end. You may help yourself to anything you can find.’ As she said the last, she seemed to shimmer in the air for a moment, and then, to my great surprise, she simply vanished.
 
We looked at one another, and at the now apparently empty room before us. Arin quickly used his magic to search as best he could, but could find absolutely no trace of her at all. I called out from the edge of the platform, to the others waiting outside, that we had spoken civilly with Barithia, but that now she had vanished into thin air. I hoped that they would be on their guard, because now she could be anywhere at all.
 
With some evident trepidation, Arin stepped into Barithia’s modest dwelling and had a look around. He found a neatly arranged packet of dried and preserved herbs of many different varieties which he seemed to find very interesting, and also a collection of scraps of writing in an elvish script. He brought these back outside to show to Raphael and I, and also to Sabali, who by this time had joined us by the cottage. This was the sylvan tongue once again, and Raphael rather tentatively offered to read it out to us. Mindful, no doubt, of the controversy that the language had caused earlier, he read carefully and slowly, indicating any points where the translation might be in doubt or the script difficult to follow. He was doing his best, I think, to make it clear that he was omitting nothing, and adding nothing to what was written. For all his caution, I knew very well that he could still easily have fooled me that way if he had had a mind to, but perhaps it was not so with Arin.
 
I will set it down here, as Raphael reported it, so that you can judge for yourself what to make of it.
 
It has been too long, sat in this hateful place. When the dragons came, they looked to us... prayed that we would help! When we did, they "allowed" us to stay. Allowed.... ALLOWED? How dare they...
 
It is not our fault we were cursed... stolen from our mother's wombs before we were born, and turned into... well... monsters are we? Then I shall show them monsters!
 
...
 
Althia has left. So be it. We didn't need her anyway. She has her own plans for Drynna...
 
....
 
We will take that poxy town down piece by piece! Seleena has started taking townsfolk... we will keep them in the swamp, and drive them mad! Then they will return, and tear that stinking hole into the mud.
 
...
 
This isn't right. It isn't fair, I never asked for this...
 
...
 
I killed Seleena today. It had to be done.
 
...
 
I'll save those I can. Keep them safe here. Those that understand. The rest, I will send to Mother Winter herself. Why turn them mad, when I can sap their life energy. The curse will not be lifted. If some die, then they die...
 
...
 
Seleena is back... Somehow...
 
...
 
So... Drynna has sent people to see what's happened? The swamp is mine! Even without the rest of the creatures here, I can call forth more. It is only a matter of time.
 
There were many curious aspects to these writings, but It was the mention of Althia’s ‘plans’ that concerned us the most. Did they bode well or ill for the people of Drynna? What of the potions brewed from the dried ephedra which we had delivered with our own hands? In reality though, there was absolutely nothing that we could do about that at the moment, so we tried to focus on the problem at hand.
 
Arin went back inside the hut, probably to have more of a look around, while Sabali, Raphael and I remained outside, and continued to discuss the possible significance of the fragmented texts. We were so absorbed in our task that we did not at first notice the door of the hut slowly closing behind us, not until we heard a sharp cry of alarm from Sabali, followed by the sound of a bolt sliding home. By that point the door was locked, and with Arin still on the other side. We looked at one another in appalled realisation at what had happened.
 
Listening, we could hear Barithia’s voice coming from within the house, asking again why we had come, and Arin’s replies, calm and measured as always, explaining that we did not seek a conflict with her, but only to lift the curse on the people of Drynna.
 
She answered, sounding almost in despair, that to end the curse would end her. It chilled me to hear that, because if it was true, and she really had bound her life force to the curse, then we would almost certainly have no choice but to kill her in order to save the people of the town. Those who had followed her, she said - by which I think she meant the people of Bel - would live and be safe out here in the swamp, even as those in Drynna would die.
 
This last had sounded like she was reasoning, almost bargaining, with Arin, but then her voice became softer, as if pleading for his understanding. ‘They stole us you know, before we were born. We never asked for this, never asked to be monsters…. we killed the ones that did it to us, we killed them… but perhaps we are monsters even so…’
 
By this point, Raphael was pushing with all his might against the door, trying to break it open with main force, but it wasn’t budging. He indicated that I should help him, but I could still hear Arin’s steady voice within, advocating for the people of Drynna. He didn’t sound panicked, or in any distress as yet, and as long as there was the slightest possibility that he could succeed, I wanted to give him that chance.
 
If even part of what Barithia had said was true, and I thought that it probably was, then she and her sisters had been grievously wronged in all of this as well. Not only by whatever deal had been reneged upon, but by the very circumstances of their creation. If Arin could find a way to help her to step away from her misplaced vengeance, and instead to set it right, then that was holy work indeed, none more so. No doubt, Arin was afraid, trapped in there alone with the hag, but I did not think that his fear would keep him from his duty. On the other hand, I also understood that it was largely my fault that this had happened, and if I could have changed places with him, then I would have done it in a heartbeat.
 
I don’t know exactly why it happened then, perhaps just another turn of an unstable mind, but Barithia’s voice suddenly hardened, becoming cold and hostile, almost mocking. ‘The thing is, your gnome friend isn’t as well hidden as he thinks he is, she sneered, and then laughed unpleasantly. I felt a sharp stab of alarm at that, and spun around, looking out across the water. Had I misjudged where the danger truly lay? It seemed that I had.
 
Rising from the shallows by the reed beds close to where Orlando had concealed himself were three hideous creatures, apparently congealing from the very muck of the swamp itself. They seemed to know exactly where Orlando was, and, reaching through the concealing screen of reeds, they set about him with teeth and claws. I saw him take several nasty hits, but he was (as is often the case with Orlando) tougher than they had expected. After a few moments he was able to get clear of them, running full tilt, with the things in hot pursuit. I was leaning out over the railing of the platform, looking for the best place to jump down, when one of the things turned back and spat something which hit me full in the face.
 
Where it touched my skin, it prickled and stung, although not badly enough to be doing much damage, I didn’t think. It had, however, effectively blinded me. Once the stuff was in my eyes, my vision blurred and clouded so much that I could see nothing but the fuzziest outlines of shapes and colours. Practically useless in a combat situation. I hoped that it would clear soon, but until it did, I didn’t know how much help I could be to Orlando or to anyone else. It was not a good feeling to be so helpless in the middle of a fight, to say the least.
 
It was only moments later, however, that Raphael, sensing my discomfort I suppose, reached over and tried to help me. His touch was icy cold - and I don’t mean that as hyperbole, I literally felt crystals of ice forming on my eyelashes and eyebrows as his fingers tried to clear whatever foul stuff the creature had hit me with. It might have helped my eyes a bit, I’m not sure, but even if it had done nothing at all for my vision, it was a very kind and rather unexpected gesture, and I took heart from it.
 
I could hear the battle with the swamp-beasts going on in and around the water below, but I could tell pretty much nothing about how it was going. I could hear that Bayou was still firing, so that offered reassurance that Orlando was still on his feet at least. Jumping off the platform was now no longer a practical option for me, so I focused on what I might actually be able to help with, which was to get through the door to Arin. The irony was not lost on me that this was the selfsame threshold that I had been so pleased to have remembered not to cross just ten minutes before, but sometimes that is how it goes. I aimed a kick at where I judged the weak point of the door might be, but without being able to see it properly, it was hard to strike at the right angle. I felt the wood splinter, and I drew my foot back from what was clearly now a hole, but the main part of the door itself was still very much intact.
 
Louder now, I could hear Arin’s voice from inside. It was laced with power and rang out sternly, targeting the hag with a single command, ‘FLEE’, backed with a divine authority that would surely be hard to resist. I couldn’t see what had happened of course, but judging by the lack of reaction around me, no fleeing hag left the building, which was a pity, because if it had worked, it would have saved a lot of door-related frustration. A moment later I heard splintering wood and breaking glass from the side of the cottage, and the thump of a mailed body landing on wooden planks. Had Arin managed to escape the hag by jumping out of the closed window on the far side of the room? It was a striking feat of athleticism if he had done so, and one which even Sabali might have been impressed by.
 
The sounds of battle were all around me still, but I could register none of the details with my eyes still hopelessly blurred. I tried the door again, a shoulder slam this time, but with no more success. I could feel the wood bending a little at the impact, but it was well made and stood firm.
 
Barithia started to cast some sort of dark magic through the gap in the planks of the door, and so I ducked quickly to the side, flattening myself against the wall to avoid it. As my eyes finally cleared, although they were still stinging and watery, I noticed that Arin and Raphael had done much the same on the other side. It looked from what I could see like the group on the bank had managed to dispatch all of the swamp creatures, which was a great relief. Ussi had climbed up to join us on the platform, and was now looking rather expectantly at the door.
 
Arin swung his mace at it, and managed to leave a small dent but nothing more substantial. This was becoming ridiculous. I tried again, shoving hard with my shield this time, and... nothing. I began to consider whether this door might be enchanted in some way that had so far escaped detection.
 
I wondered where Sabali had gone, but then I heard noises up on the roof, followed by a crash from the side of the house where Arin had broken the window. It sounded like a fierce struggle might be going on back there, and I hoped that he was all right.
 
A firebolt streaked out from somewhere in the trees, Zeni’s work, I guessed, and hit the door at an angle. It was now slightly singed on one side, but remained totally serviceable as a barrier to entry. Ussi looked up at me, and then at Arin, questioningly, as if asking what we were waiting for. I shrugged, and, given my total lack of success so far, made a sort of ‘after you’ gesture. Arin nodded and was gearing up for another swing of his mace, when we heard a shout from Enessa, who was still back somewhere out of sight. ‘Get her, Ussi!’ Enessa commanded, ‘Go get the hag!’
 
On hearing this, Ussi approached the door, and placed one large paw in the rough hole. I was immediately worried that he might get hit by Barithia’s magic if he sat there for too long, but there was no real need for me to worry, because it really didn’t take much time at all. Bracing himself, Ussi sort of ripped at the sides of the hole with his teeth and claws, tearing at the ragged edges, which gradually became ever wider and more fractured until what was left in the doorframe was reduced almost to kindling. He hadn’t so much bashed in the door, as we had tried to do, as shredded it.
 
We still had the hag to deal with of course, and this was obviously a very serious situation, but even so, this business with the door suddenly struck me as very funny. Perhaps I had just been too tense for too long, and any release was welcome, but I couldn’t help myself from grinning broadly, and probably rather foolishly, at Arin and Raphael. Mighty warriors all, we had just been totally upstaged by a panther. I suppose that sometimes life just likes to make sure that you understand your proper place in the grand scheme of things. I bent to scratch at Ussi’s ears for a moment in thanks, and he pushed his large head against my legs, purring a loud rumble of satisfaction at his work. As well he might.
 
Once I was finally able to get through the remains of the doorway, I was startled to see Sabali already engaged in fierce hand to hand combat with a creature who I supposed must be Barithia in her true hag form. She now looked very much like the monster which she had apparently tried so hard not to become, and was raking at Sabali's face with long, vicious claws. I don't know how long he had been there - he must have been able to climb in the window somehow I supposed - but although somewhat bruised and bloodied, he seemed to be holding his own. Once the door was clear, Arin, Raphael and I crowded into the small room, surrounding Barithia on all sides.
 
Before we were able to get the better of her, she vanished again, shimmering into thin air and leaving nothing for our blades to strike. Sabali gave a low growl of anger, which gave voice to a sense of frustration which everyone felt. She seemed almost to be playing with us.
 
Fortunately, Zeni seemed to have someway of tracking her movements this time, because she let out a shout, and I could see that she was pointing directly back the way that we had come, towards the village of Bel….