Terjal's joy at finally destroying White Rage was allayed by the death of Shankal.

Before the direspawn's scraps of flesh had fallen to the earth, Terjal had scrambled to Shankal's side. As he touched the aquamancer's throat, his fingers found a faint pulse. But he also saw that Shankal's neck had been snapped, the windpipe crushed. That the aquamancer still possessed a pulse merely meant that his blood was able to course his veins a moment more.

Soon Strandholt was at Terjal's side, the young Blade's eyes frantic. "Does he live?" Strandholt said, his tone hopeful.

"Barely," Terjal replied, shaking his head. "There's nothing we can do, his neck appears broken."

Impossibly, Shankal's eyelids lifted to slivers and he moved his mouth soundlessly, motioning for Strandholt. "You know what comes next," the dying aquamancer gasped through his flattened windpipe, "for my last breath comes soon." And with a sigh, it did. Shankal's eyelids began to close and his head fell backward. Terjal slowly eased the dead aquamancer against the ground.

No sooner had Terjal's hands left Shankal's body, did the aquamancer's form begin to blur, then melt. A smooth, clear crystal no larger than a man's fist was all that was left of the exiled healer.

Strandholt knelt before the crystal, taking the stone gently in his hand. "When I've seen this quest done," Strandholt promised to the heavens, as if the dead aquamancer might hear his oath, "I shall travel to Shammerkath and throw this crystal into the Sea of Serpents as you have directed me."

Terjal's brows lifted in a wondering frown as he turned to Strandholt. "You made a promise to Shankal? When was this?"

Strandholt turned his gaze upon Shankal's crystal. "After we left Quitonne, I asked that he see to a cure for my mother's suffering once this quest was finished. In exchange, I promised to give his crystal to the Sea of Serpents in Shammerkath upon his death."

"But he cannot help your mother now."

"He told me that I might find another aquamancer in Shammerkath willing to help my mother." Then turning to look Terjal squarely in the eye, added, "I will fail neither family nor friend. I gave him my word as an Outsider and Wanderer of the World."

Terjal felt slightly embarrassed that he'd questioned Strandholt of such an honorable duty, especially given the Blade's background. Still, Strandholt was valuable to the conjurer--yet he was hard--pressed to come between the Blade and his devotion to a friend, and to his own family.

###

Terjal and the others reentered the keep; with White Rage no longer a threat, a thorough search became a luxury they could now afford. Grafter's lifeless body still lay in a corner of the Great Hall, only now it was nothing more than a skeleton covered with parchment-dry flesh. Terjal and the others watched as Grafter's remains slowly dissolved in a swirl of grey powder, as if Death were claiming the Ageless One as compensation for the centuries he had cheated it.

The Grip was now clothed in the darkness of night. Besides searching the keep, Terjal thought it would be as good a place as any in which to rest. Terjal didn't think that the remaining spellcaster--providing, of course, he existed at all--would still be hiding within the immense hold. But he knew he must enlist his Blades in some diverting task while he searched for Grafter's ubiquitous library. Terjal was, after all, a conjurer who never passed up an opportunity to advance personal knowledge in the Art, no matter the source.

With Aiya at his side Terjal made his way through the catacomb-like halls until he found the personal chamber of Grafter--and not far from that, another. While Aiya investigated the second of the personal chambers, Terjal explored the chamber he recognized as Grafter's.

Terjal gazed in awe at the only bookshelf in the room reaching nearly to the ceiling, for it was packed tightly with tomes. Greedily, Terjal drew several of the books, quickly scanning the thin pages of each tome. The flavor of some of the books seemed to indicate to Terjal that another spellcaster had indeed contributed to the written commentary. Yet as he poured over those tomes, he could find no clues as to the identity of the other spellcaster.

Terjal selected a number of the books, reluctantly discarding the rest--many of which contained information he already possessed. Terjal unfolded a burlap sack he'd brought with him and began to stuff the books within it. As he was doing this, he heard soft footsteps behind him.

Aiya entered the chamber carrying two books, holding aloft the thinnest of the volumes. "Well, now we have definite proof that another spellcaster was working with Grafter."

Terjal accepted the tome she held out to him, cracked it open and began examining the pages. "Hmm, it seems to be a journal of some kind, though most of the entries," riffling the pages like a stack of cards, "are blank. Also, there doesn't seem to be a name inscribed anywhere..." Terjal turned the book over and over in his hands, inspecting the spine, flyleaf, front and back boards. "The few entries written out are almost unintelligible--the scrawl of a madman."

Aiya nodded, her brow rumpling in a pensive frown. "It's as if this other spellcaster knew Grafter might be defeated and prepared for it by deleting any reference to his own identity."

"And I'll wager he's nowhere to be found within this keep."

"Do you think he might be still be in the Grip?"

Terjal stroked his dark-red beard, considering. "The explosion of spell energy most likely prevented him from spell traveling out of the Grip and his own spell energy must be quite drained. So the explosion should have thrown him clear of the keep, and yes, he's probably on his way out of the swamp on foot or--"

"--By horse!" Aiya finished, her eyes wide.

###

Darman loosed a soft curse under his breath. "That spellcaster's taken one of the horses, all right. Mine of all the bloody things!"

"Well," Strandholt said, turning to the First Blade and trying not to grin too widely, "he knew superior horseflesh when he saw it--I told you back in Quitonne you should have gotten an old gelding!"

Darman grunted humorlessly, his long-boned arms crossed sullenly upon his chest. "I'll ride Arjas's horse, but I'll take the reigns." Then he cast Arjas a warning glance, just in case the younger Blade should protest. But Arjas only stared silently into the distance, nodding absently.

Terjal watched Arjas carefully. He was very worried about the young, dark-haired Blade. Since Thrasher's death, Arjas seemed to have become a listless automaton, performing any task bade him without the slightest comment. It was obvious also, with the death of Grafter, that Arjas was no longer under the control of the once-immortal spellcaster. Yet he hadn't returned to his old, jovial self--as if he must feel too guilty to allow himself a normal mien. He's under the control of his own emotions now, Terjal thought to himself.

"We should be grateful," Terjal said, "that this spellcaster didn't raid our supplies as well. He must have confidence that he'll breach the boundary of the Grip before nightfall. With the principal spellcaster eliminated, it's unlikely any enchanted creatures will be encountered along the way. And since we're not likely to catch up with him at this point--not even knowing in which direction he's headed--we may as well spend the night in the keep."

Darman took the reigns of the two remaining horses and the two pack mules. "Strandholt and I will see to animals; we'll bring 'em in closer to the hold where we can feed and water 'em proper."

"It might also be a good idea," Aiya added, "if we all sleep in the Great Hall together with weapons at our sides. We can't discount the possibility of any remaining guardians skulking about."

Terjal nodded. "I'll take safety over comfort on any day."

Terjal heard not a single word of dissent among the others.

###

Terjal lay awake in the darkness, unable to coax sleep into his mind. Aiya lay beside him and he heard the soft purr of deep slumber coming from her. He also heard the sleep sounds of his Blades: Darman's low, rumbling snore and Strandholt's intermittent muted braying. But where was Arjas's short snores?

Terjal felt a light touch upon his shoulder and he started, his hand reaching in the dark for his dagger. He twisted up into a sitting position, eyes searching the darkness. Arjas's silhouette was framed in the moonlight streaming from a fissure in the keep's forward wall.

"Might I have a word with you?" Arjas whispered, his voice anxiously hopeful, though his words formal.

Terjal nodded toward the others, two fingers touching his lips for silence. When they'd moved away from their sleeping companions, Terjal gave Arjas an imploring look.

"I realize," Arjas spoke softly and slowly, his voice cracking a little, "that I'm not personally responsible for Thrasher's death. But I am still in agony over it--and I haven't any doubt that this will forever mark my life. Many have died by my hand--but always of my own choosing, and always in battle. I have never murdered--for that implies malice, and I've never borne such toward another while in battle." Arjas's gaze bored feverishly into Terjal's eyes as he continued. "I also know what the rumors will be once the true story is ever loosed upon the land: once a traitor, always a traitor. No one is likely to understand how a bewitching can control man's mind and his hand."

"You don't think the other Blades have judged you thusly?"

Arjas shook his head. "No, no--I've accepted their assurances that they do not hold me responsible. I've known them all long enough, I reckon. Even Strandholt, an Outsider like Thrasher, bears me no ill will. They're men of honor; if they give me their word, then their word satisfies me. It's," Arjas cast his gaze downward, ashamed, "the Duke, Lord Vaukmond, I'm worried about. He's likely to consider such a story flummery, since he distrusts magic so. A warrior, in his eyes, could never be compromised by a spellcaster."

Terjal placed his hands upon Arjas's shoulders, and he shook the Blade once in affection. "You can be assured that Lord Vaukmond will hear the story from my lips first, and not from another's. But it is unlikely the story itself will ever reach the Duke's ear--all of us here shall see that it does not."

But despite his confidence, Terjal saw that Arjas still had dread and despair perched upon his shoulders like a pair of vultures.

###

The morning came for them unusually cool though the dampness remained, leaving a scent of maple upon the light breeze. Before Terjal and his party made ready to depart Grafter's hold, and the Grip, Strandholt made a unsettling discovery.

Now they stood clustered about a trail of dried, crystallized slime which Strandholt had tracked from just outside the keep. In the path of the trail lay an assortment of masticated animal carcasses.

And something else.

Aiya had discovered the remains of a larval cocoon, the amniotic juices having thickened into a solid pool around the fragments. She looked up at Terjal from where she knelt, "We have another direspawn to worry about."

Terjal rolled his eyes heavenward before returning his gaze to Aiya's as she stood up. "I was hoping we'd only be tracking another spellcaster, not another marauding beast." Then, stooping to pick up a fragment of cocoon, added, "It looks like this particular direspawn, from the slimy residue, might be a giant snail or slug. What it's reproducing...I have little idea."

"Well," Aiya answered, fingering an edge of the cocoon in Terjal's palm, "whatever it's reproducing, it's birthing lots of them. Strandholt found broken larvae shells for yards down the trail."

And Terjal was certain they'd find many more before they left the Grip.

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