The+Twins

"I do not know what it is to have a twin, but in a way I have more than a hundred siblings: The Warforged created by House Cannith in Eston, using Flametouched Iron provided by the Church." //~ Argent, Priest of the Silver Flame, to Templar Aiwyn Elenwyd//

"This base is the mightiest military force in all Breland. Walking New Cyre's streets are heroes of might and magic to rival the greatest figures of the Last War. So when I tell you Jarvis Black is the most dangerous being within fifty miles of this spot, you will understand my full meaning." //~ Ariel Elenwyd, Dark Lantern of Breland//

** Ariel, 8 Eyre 998 YK (early morning): **
The forge level of Dejarn was loud and smoke-filled, and Ariel Elenwyd, Dark Lantern of Breland, suppressed the urge to cough as she stalked down the broad, high-ceilinged corridor. Even this early in the morning the Cannith smiths were hard at work, and Ariel's dark cloak billowed in blasts of heated air coming from both left and right. Ignoring the tantalizing glimpses into open doorways aglow with orange forgelight, she shifted a long, rag-wrapped object from her right hand to her left as she reached the far end and turned to face a wide door on the left, into which the Basilisk of House Medani had been recently burned. Ariel raised her right hand and knocked right between the Basilisk's eyes, three times. Motes of blackened wood fell to the floor. Hearing heavy footsteps approach from the other side, the Dark Lantern took a step back, instinct and training guiding her body into a casual defensive stance.

With a creak and a metal-on-metal rasp from above, the door slid about four feet to Ariel's left, revealing a Warforged, its chest plating enameled in Breland blue, King's Citadel emblem above where the heart would have been in a humanoid. The living construct nodded once and stepped back, allowing Ariel to pass into a large open chamber. The forge to her right was quiet, except for two small jets of flame directed at a stew pot and a kettle hanging on a spit. The dim fires faintly illuminated racks of neatly-stored tools, and further back, barely visible to Ariel's Elven vision, two tables, with canvas tarps concealing whatever was on them.

To Ariel's left, sitting at a small round table below an //everbright lantern// in a ceiling sconce directly overhead, a female Half-Elf was just putting a spoon down by a plate of food. Picking up an earthenware mug from which tendrils of steam rose, she stood and looked at Ariel, eyebrow raised. She took a long sip from the mug before saying, "Lantern Ariel, is it? I'd heard you might come. Shall I set another place at the table? It's yesterday's beef stew, but it warms up well." Raising the mug slightly, she added, "The tea is a Thranish blend, and hot."

"I broke my fast earlier, thank you, Lady d'Medani." Ariel took two more steps into the chamber. "And my sister is the one to appreciate Thranish tea."

"Call me Faye, please. I have heard much about Templar Aiwyn -- we have many of the same acquaintances, same as with you -- but our paths have not yet crossed."

Ariel nodded and walked over to the nearest tarp-covered table, placing her bundle down and turning to face the door, which the Warforged was now closing. The chamber grew quiet and the construct stood at parade rest, facing back at Ariel.

"You are called Rook, correct?"

The Warforged nodded once, then said in a low monotone that carried across the chamber, "Lantern Ariel, it was felt that my modest skill in artificing would be of use to Lady d'Medani."

Faye chuckled, then took another sip from the mug. "People keep insisting I need a living construct to help me with my crafting. Though I'll grant he's a step up from the 'helper' I had in The Cogs."

Ariel nodded. "That would be the creature called Fedder, correct?"

"So you've read my file. Fedder, yes. A tragic figure, really. A common flesh golem made by a young Cannith scion, who then did the unspeakable; he exposed his creation to the energies of a creation forge, the //eldritch machines// the House was using to make Warforged. Somehow, it gained life and a soul. The Cannith was excoriated and Fedder spent nearly 30 years at Cannith Tower in Sharn, training batch after batch of new Warforged. Finally, after the War ended, one of the magistrates charged with implementing the Thronehold Treaty ruled that Fedder had the same legal status as the Warforged, and he was freed,..to become hired muscle in the Sharn underworld."

"I was born at Cannith Tower," Rook said. "Fedder trained my forgebrothers and myself to fight large opponents, using himself as the target. None asked why he was there; at the time we were all property. I regret his passing."

Ariel nodded again, then replied to Faye, "The Citadel has evidence the Cannith excoriate, known as Tyvon, is alive and was actively aiding the Goblins who raided into Breland earlier this year."

Faye scoffed. "Evidence I gave the Citadel. I was there."

"Of course."

"But Fedder is dead, and now I have Rook." Faye took another sip. A moment passed as the two women looked at each other. Faye Dwarfhammer d'Medani was short for a //Khoravar//, with a stocky build that seemed more Human than Elven, but still fit and athletic like most adventurers Ariel had known. Faye's dark hair was bound up in tight braids, but with flyaway bangs that partially covered her forehead and sea-green eyes. The mug was in her left hand, but her right was down at her side, and Ariel saw the slight gestures that indicated she was casting a spell. Faye was staring at the rag-wrapped object Ariel had placed on the table.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"It's the reason I came to you, and not one of the Canniths on this level. Are you detecting magic?" Ariel asked.

"Using my 'mark, you mean? Of course." A few seconds later, she added, "Strong conjuration...moderate transmutation...strong necromancy, and...a very strong enchantment...compulsion aura. Separate from the first three. I think it might-OH!" Faye averted her gaze and staggered back. Liquid from the mug splashed onto her sleeve, and she slammed it down on the table by the plate of stew with a //thunk//. With barely a sound, Rook was at her side in a heartbeat, but Faye waved him off. Ariel calmly watched, impressed by the Warforged's speed and stealth. //A good King's Shields agent as well as an artificer//, she thought.

She changed the subject to give Faye a chance to recover. "How did you come by the name Dwarfhammer?"

Faye took a deep breath, stood up straight and replied, "My father helped the Dwarven Clan Kolkarun early in the War while studying their techniques. We moved to Breland in the chaos of the Mror Holds gaining their freedom from Karrnath, when for a time all non-Dwarves were expelled. Our new neighbors in Breland started calling Father "Dwarfhammer," and over time he taught me smithing and forgecraft in the Dwarven style, so I took the name when I set off on my own. My inquisitive nature came from my mother -- as did the Mark of Detection, apparently."

"Kolkarun?" Ariel replied. "As in Golandar Kolkarun?"

"Indeed, though as you know Dwarves use their Clan names when away from the Holds. It's a coincidence."

"My training tells me it's not."

"And my training is as good as yours, if not better. So when I say 'coincidence,' I mean that once I met him I thoroughly investigated any possible links. Golandar was born after we left, and his family had no contact with my parents while they lived in Kolkarunhold. Golandar is here in Breland at the request of Ambassador Mroranon, who apparently wanted him...for her entourage."

Faye quirked an eyebrow, and Ariel nodded to indicate she knew exactly what the Half-Elf meant. Rook looked from one to the other, and even though his faceplate was incapable of expression, he still managed to appear puzzled.

Without pausing to explain, Ariel said, "The Ambassador boarded Dejarn yesterday to speak to the mercenary prisoners we have in our makeshift brig. Both the Dwarves and the Orcs."

"Oh yes, then she came down to this level. It was all the Canniths could talk about, showing this noble Dwarf what they were up to in their different forges."

"But not you, Faye?"

"Sovereigns, no! Perhaps if Golandar had been with her...it would have been nice to catch up. For one thing, he likes Thranish tea. And I wouldn't mind another look at his weapon. Clan Kolkarun skalds sing about the //Khazad-Spike,// and losing it to Clan Droranath two centuries ago was a source of sorrow, shame and anger. Me, I just want to examine a pinnacle of Dwarven forgecraft from the time before Galifar."

"The Ambassador reportedly brandished the other Dwarven 'pinnacle' when she spoke to the prisoners."

"//Beardcutter//? An evil name. I've read that in those long-ago days, Clan fought Clan all over and under those northern mountains, and the Droranath sold their loyalty to the highest bidder. But what sane Dwarf would forge a weapon as a bane to other Dwarves? Perhaps she was smart to have it with her, to remind the Droranath captives they really did lose the fight. Which, I guess, brings us back around to...//that//." Faye gestured to the object on the table. She was ready.

Ariel turned and started removing the rags, careful not to touch the object itself. She could sense both Rook and Faye angling in to get a closer look.The final rag, which had been part of a red cloak, stained brown with blood, was long enough that pulling it free caused the object -- a dark-bladed scimitar, blade also stained with blood -- to flip once on the table. The weapon appeared normal, designed to slash and stab, with neither the barbs and serrations associated with Goblin weapons nor the elaborate geometric designs favored by the Dwarves. The hilt was wrapped in plain leather, the crossguard a bright steel that contrasted with the darker metal of the blade. Cold iron, or possibly an adamantine alloy.

"The Red Owl died with this in her hand," Ariel said, stepping to her right to give Rook a better view from where he stood by the forge. Faye walked up to the table, only a couple of feet away, and stared at it again, left hand making the same gestures as before. Now that she was looking for it, Ariel noted the slight glow on Faye's left wrist from her Least Mark. This time, the //Khoravar// hardly flinched at the powerful aura she detected.

She pointed at a stone, smaller than the nail on her little finger, a fleck of dark purple embedded in the silvery crossguard, where blade met hilt. "That's a Khyber dragonshard...and the source of the most powerful aura. But so small...."

"Evil?"

"I'm not detecting for alignment, just auras. But I will say, if //Beardcutter// were also lying on the table, its aura would feel like a warm breeze next to //that//. I misspoke earlier. It may not be an enchantment at all. The compulsion may be...inherent."

"Is there something bound, then? An outsider or elemental?"

"I've never heard of a shard so small being used for binding magic, such as the Gnomes perform. I don't know."

"And the other auras? The transmutation, conjuration, necromancy?"

"Without a full identification, I'd say the conjuration is a bane power, and the transmutation might make it a keen weapon, a typical boost for scimitars. As for the necromancy...the Red Owl was a Tiefling, right?"

"Turns out she was, even though in earlier sightings she presented as //Khoravar//. The deception was good, but as we now know she was likely the sister of Telgin Char, or his lover. Perhaps both."

"Char? The terrorist who attacked the Golden Dragon? Whatever. Necromancy in a weapon is usually life or energy drain. Her outsider bloodline may have protected her from the ill effects. Anything more about the scimitar, like how the Red Owl got her hands on it?"

"No," said Ariel curtly. "May I leave it so you can conduct a full identification?"

Faye considered, then turned to walk back to the small table, waving towards the far end of the chamber. "Leave it by the back table. Good day."

Ariel grasped the scimitar by the hilt, and held it up. The dark blade didn't reflect the small flames at the forge. //The// Valaes Tairn //use scimitars//, she thought, //but the typical Valenar weapon has a narrower blade with a more pronounced curve, and is often paired with a kukri for those Elves who favor the two weapon style//. Then a different thought occurred to her, something that had nagged at her when she read Faye's Citadel dossier. She stepped along the long table, lowering her right arm until the scimitar's tip brushed the stone-tiled floor with a faint //scrape//, watching as the Half-Elf picked up the mug of tea and took another sip.

"What made you think you could...pretend to be the Duergar's apprentice? That was a big risk. You put many lives in danger."

"You're still here?" Faye sighed and turned to face the Elf. "Fine. We had Kostas Knyarri's signet ring, and a letter addressed to him from the mysterious NZZN. I sought to learn why he'd been hired, build a case connecting him to those behind the Dark Hands." The Half-Elf paused then scoffed. "Not like your Citadel was much help."

"Your ploy failed." //scrape scrape.// "They saw through it, put you to work on a useless task, set Fedder to keep an eye on you...and then took you to be ritually sacrificed by a cult. Reckless. Amateurish."

"That's as may be," Faye said, slamming the mug down so she could point. "But at least I didn't spend two weeks in a drugged coma while PrairieHearth was looted and turned into an armed camp!"

With a final //scrape// that raised sparks, Ariel raised the scimitar and pointed it, //en garde//, at Faye. Coldly, slowly, she said, "A Dark Lantern does not answer to a common Citadel blacksmith."

"I am here by explicit agreement between the head of my House, Baron Trelib d'Medani, and your commander, Regent Kor ir'Wyarn himself!" Faye suddenly had an object in her hand, aimed at Ariel, like a handbell with a long leather-wrapped handle that she gripped like a dagger.

"Lantern Ariel! Lady d'Medani! Please!" It was Rook, now standing between them, arms wide. Even though his voice was louder, it remained a monotone. "What is happening here? Think!"

With an effort, Ariel looked at the scimitar. Her right hand gripped it so hard the blade shook. Her knuckles were white, wrist tendons taut. She let instinct take over, shifting to a left-handed stance, left foot forward. But at the instant when she relaxed her grip on the weapon, Ariel curled her left hand into a fist and punched her right wrist. The scimitar dropped to the floor with a clatter, and the Lantern jumped back, bumping into the side of the long table. She grabbed at the tarp to keep from falling, and part of it pulled free from the other end, revealing two gray metal cylinders and one end of a long, oddly-shaped piece of wood with an Eberron shard embedded into the tip.

All three stared at the scimitar. Finally Faye returned the object to her belt and said, "Apologies, Lantern Ariel. You are not to blame for PrairieHearth's corruption. I knew Brunt and Tanar, and regret their deaths."

"As I knew the three Citadel agents who also died there." Ariel stood and straightened her cloak and tabard before continuing, "Funny you mention Tanar d'Tharashk. I too regret his death, as the Citadel really wanted to question him on several topics. He was more than just a bounty hunter; our friend Governor Oargev didn't put him on retainer to locate Eberron shards in a long-forgotten dirt mine." Faye raised an eyebrow but said nothing. //If I mention the Slayer of Cyre's Children or the// Quiet Storm //incident, she'll probably draw that bell thing again//.

Ariel reached into a hidden pocket inside her tabard to remove a parchment scroll sealed twice, black wax next to blue wax. Pointing at the scimitar with the scroll, she said in a louder voice, "That weapon is property of the King's Dark Lanterns. As a condition of your continued use of Citadel assets, both you and Rook are hereby required to make it safe for use, by any means necessary. This order has been witnessed and signed by the Commander of the Dark Lanterns and the Captain of Dejarn."

She held the scroll out, but Faye picked up her mug and glared. A moment of uneasy silence passed before Rook stepped up to take it. "I understand and obey, Lantern Ariel. We will do what we can to either neutralize or remove the Khyber shard. I'll report on our progress in a couple of days."

Ariel nodded to Rook, then to Faye, and walked to the big sliding door. This time, Rook didn't move to open it for her. As she touched the handle, Faye said, "It wasn't a useless task, there in The Cogs."

"Oh?"

"NZZN gave me everything they knew about //Guurgaal//, including detailed drawings of its design. At first I thought all the barbs and serrations, the beveled edges and the fluting along the sides of the heavy //byeshk// blade, were just ornamentation one would expect on a weapon meant for an Emperor of Dhakaan. Thomas the Aundairian thought it might have been a staff imbued with powerful summoning magics, which would explain the legends of a horde that fought with that Emperor against those Daelkyr...The Three."

"And now?"

"Now I'm convinced that //Guurgaal// isn't just a weapon, nor is it a staff. It's a key."

"To what?"

Faye smiled thinly. "Now that is a good question. When we find out, I suspect many other mysteries will be answered."

Ariel slid the heavy door open, and as she exited back into the broad corridor she glanced back. Rook had grabbed heavy iron tongs from the rack by the forge, and was advancing on the scimitar. //One chore done//, she thought. //Now for something even more hazardous//.

** Aiwyn, 8 Eyre 998 YK (morning): **
The Church of the Silver Flame in New Cyre was a small building, whitewashed with silver trim and a gray slate roof. One window was broken, but the outside was otherwise undamaged by the Swords of Liberty attack on the town. The main chapels doors were open, but there was no sign of foot traffic nor of anyone hurrying to the church for the morning service.

Aiwyn Elenwyd, Templar of the Silver Flame and agent of Thrane, shook her head and strode into the chapel. She wore her mithral breastplate, repaired and polished after the battle by a local forger called Kebbo Manistee -- who manifested the Least Mark of Making earlier this year but had yet to join the House or formally take the "d'Cannith" honorific -- and a fresh Templar uniform in shades of gray with a silver embroidered flame on the chest. Her long brown hair was in tight braids, and slung across her back was her enchanted Thinblade, //Aer'Calyr// (Faithful Law Bringer), and matching enchanted mithral Kite Shield, //Baelual// (Holy Guardian). //The sights and smells of battle remain,// she thought. // Not yet time for civilian garb //.

Inside, the nave was just as empty. There were two skylights above, letting in the gray light of a cloudy morning, and five rows of pews, meeting at about a 45-degree angle at the middle aisle connecting the main doors at the back to a raised stage at the front. The stage featured a silver brazier chased with brass at center stage rear, a narrow pulpit nearer the front at stage left, and a small silver font at the top of two broad stairs. Empty candle sconces lined the left and front edges of the stage to either side of the stairs. Dominating the right side of the stage was a chancel -- two choir stalls surrounded by a polished wooden rail, the rear higher than the front; together they could seat about ten people. //Whoever built this was an optimist//, Aiwyn thought. Outside of Thrane, few Flame churches in towns this small could support a choir.

The pew furthest back to her left had been broken, next to some dark stains on the cobbled floor. //Someone did get in, and paid the price//, she thought. She cleared her throat -- the sound carried well in the enclosed space -- and started walking slowly down the aisle. Support pillars stood at the far end of the third pews, and when she looked back and up she saw a narrow balcony along the back of the nave, above the chapel doors. Ropes tied to the balcony rail were threaded through eyebolts in the ceiling, and held up matching chandeliers, in iron with silver trim. There were no coldfire torches or //everbright lanterns//; each chandelier held about two dozen half-melted, unlit candles.

A small door opened, partially hidden by the chancel rail. A metal-clad figure ducked to pass, then stood tall to look at Aiwyn. The Warforged's iron plating had a reddish tinge and traceries of silver along both arms, and it wore a simple white tabard with the Silver Flame embossed on the front. It held a wicker basket overflowing with candles in one hand as it closed the door with the other. In the dim light Aiwyn could see the faint yellow glow of its eyes and the white glow from the //ghulra// on its forehead -- a complex sigil centered by a rendition of the Silver Flame.

"I had heard there was a Templar in New Cyre," the Warforged said in a monotone male tenor. "Welcome, honored visitor, to this humble space, unworthy of the mighty power we follow. I am Argent." He bowed slightly, and set the basket on the floor by the chancel rail. "One of my congregants brought a pot of Thranish tea earlier. It should still be warm."

"Your church is clean and functional," Aiwyn replied. "The Flame thrives in such spaces. I am Aiwyn Elenwyd, Foot-Captain in the Legion of the Pure, Knight of the Holy Order of Templars, most recently assigned to the protective detail of Her Highness, Princess Deardra ir'Wynarn, daughter of King Boranel of Breland and sister-in-law of Blood Regent Diani of Thrane. May we speak in private?"

"Of course. Would you prefer my office" -- gesturing at the door behind him -- "or perhaps the confessional?" Aiwyn glanced around and finally saw two small wooden booths, stained a deep brown with none of the silver embellishments found on the stage, to the far left of the nave. Up until that moment she hadn't considered talking about anything other than Church business and her immediate needs. But given the option....

"Yes, I believe I am due for confession." Aiwyn knew Warforged were incapable of facial expressions, yet something in Argent's body language communicated pleasure and humility at the prospect.

"After you, Templar Aiwyn." He waved towards the left booth with a showman's flourish and bowed, and together they moved, boots and metal-clad feet sounding loud in the empty chamber.

"There was fighting in here?" Aiwyn asked.

"Indeed," Argent replied. "I was sheltering about fifteen of my congregation, those too young or too old to take up arms. The sounds from outside were terrifying, so I was leading us in song. We'd just finished 'The Blessed Flame' and were about to start 'Tira's Sacrifice' when the doors burst open and two men came in. They had torches and swords, but their armor didn't fit well and they had the look of farmers."

"Most farmers today were soldiers a few years ago." They had stopped by the booths.

"As was I. Fortunately, we were all by the stage. As they screamed and cursed, I charged to meet them, barehanded. Their anger somewhat offset what they lacked in fighting skill. But I had touched the Flame's power to improve my own skill, and my body was forged with Flametouched Iron; stronger than steel, lighter than adamantine. One broke his sword on my shoulder, and I was able to knock him senseless with a left elbow smash and a right jab." Argent was demonstrating his moves as he spoke, and Aiwyn took a step back to give him room. She could see a bright crease on the Warforged's left shoulder pauldron.

"This made the other man more cautious. We traded blows, feints and parries as he retreated behind the farthest pew. He set my cassock aflame with his torch, but I was able to deflect his sword into the pew, where it caught. As he tried to pull it free I grappled him, breaking the pew...then I hit him until he stopped moving. He bled out on the floor until I could stabilize him with prayer. They were both alive when I threw them back onto the street. Then I secured the doors while my congregants doused the small fires we'd started."

"You showed admirable restraint in a desperate time," Aiwyn said. "You saved lives, including those of your assailants."

"Thank you for the kind words, Templar. It was odd...I looked at those two and felt that, somehow, their anger wasn't...all their own, if you take my meaning."

A look of surprise replaced Aiwyn's normally stern gaze. "Like an induced rage? Something perhaps caused by magic?"

"I lack the expertise in such things to know for sure, Templar. I just think that, if they survived the fighting, right now they're feeling remorse and shock at the carnage they and the rest of these 'Swords of Liberty' caused. Perhaps they can be reached. Maybe even redeemed in the light of the Flame."

"Your faith is strong, Argent. I believe I can trust you." Aiwyn opened the small door to her booth and stepped in. She could hear the Warforged entering the opposite booth, and they both sat down on the single bench that crossed both booths. A loosely-woven screen made of wicker separated them; on her side, Aiwyn had to lean forward to make room for her sword and shield.

"I emerged from the //creation forge// with the Flame in my personal sigil, my //ghulra//. My priestly vows are the center of my being. I would die before breaking my oath to protect the sanctity of the confessional." Somehow, in that tiny space, Argent's monotone statements carried more conviction than Aiwyn had felt in a long time.

"I seek forgiveness in the Silver Flame, for I have sinned," Aiwyn said, as she had a thousand times before. "It has been two months since my last confession." //Not two months since my last contact with the Church, though. There are things I couldn't say to poor Darek.//

"Speak freely in the light of the Flame, my daughter."

And so Aiwyn spoke, of her mission, the Keeper's vision, her worries about Thrane's future, and her own actions during the Battle of New Cyre. She considered raising her concern about Princess Deardra, who she suspected was quietly talking with her sister-in-law, the Blood Regent, about restoring the Wynarn monarchy. But without more evidence it seemed like idle gossip, so she kept it to herself.

From there she spoke more hesitantly about her twin sister, Ariel, and paused completely before discussing her feelings towards Darek Sepulveda, the Paladin who more than 60 years ago had been her mentor and lover, after saving her life when she fell in battle. Darek had come to take her place as commander of Deardra's personal guard, freeing Aiwyn to pursue the Keeper's mission. Seeing such an alive, virile man ravaged by the years may have been a staple of romance literature when it came to Elves and Humans, but experiencing it first-hand was still a hard thing to endure. The worst part was knowing from the look in his eyes that Darek still loved her -- a feeling she did not share. Perhaps, she worried aloud, she no longer could feel romantic towards anyone.

"You can pose the question, and are concerned about its truth," said Argent. "I think you know the answer. Same as you already know how you feel about your sister. I do not know what it is to have a twin, but in a way I have more than a hundred siblings: The Warforged created by House Cannith in Eston, using Flametouched Iron provided by the Church. Being among them in those first days, sharing our unity of purpose -- it remains one of my best memories."

"The metal used in the //creation forge// had that much influence on who you would become?"

"I can only speak to the results, which were that four in five of my Flametouched siblings either joined Church-affiliated militant orders, like the Legion of the Pure, or entered the ministry. It was in our //ghulras// and strengthened the vows we made to serve the Flame. My point was that, whether through artifice or natural birth, that sibling bond is real. It can be broken or betrayed, but that simply proves it was there in the first place."

"Have you seen any of these siblings of yours?"

"Not since I left Thrane to lead the congregation here. Almost two-thirds of them died in the War."

"Until a short time ago, at Sterngate, I hadn't seen Ariel in nearly a century. Even then we had no chance to talk. Our missions came first."

"You mentioned you are seeing her later?"

"I've been invited to tour Dejarn, as the most senior representative of the Church and of Thrane. Or that's the story Ariel told her superiors. But I must soon depart. As my confessor, what penance would you have of me?"

On the other side of the screen she could see the Warforged shift on the bench, the light in his eyes and //ghulra// casting dim shadows. Finally he said, "Nothing of what you've told me indicates sin on your part. You believe you fought honorably. Much of your mission is a mystery to me even as you described it, but it is clear you understand the tasks before you, and are working diligently to accomplish them. Your feelings toward Sir Darek and your sister are much like those I've heard from my other parishioners, who love their families regardless. Templar Aiwyn, you are free to pray here, study, meditate, light candles...I'll bring the pot of tea for you before I go. I am at your disposal in all things, but unless you need me right away, I must leave to join my congregation."

"I had wondered why the Church was so empty this morning."

"Now that the areas around New Cyre are safe, the Governor asked for volunteers to tend the composyte groves nearby. Composyte trees are rare in Breland, but their wood, sap and the sinews from their vines can be made into the finest bows this side of Aerenal. I use one myself. The invaders set many fires in the groves; fortunately the wet ground and recent rains prevented a complete loss. Still, many trees were killed, and others damaged. I volunteered, on behalf of my people. This will be our second day in the woods; we've doused hot spots, cleared debris and salvaged what we could from fallen trees. We've been fortunate to have the help of a Druid from the Eldeen Reaches, and her enormous Wolf."

"I know who you mean; Warden Moondown is a worthy ally. I do not wish to keep you from your people, Argent. You are setting a fine example for all New Cyre in these troubled times."

"Very good, Templar. To that end, let us finish. You are absolved, Templar Aiwyn Elenwyd. May the Light of the Flame guide your path, so that you may avoid temptation and wickedness."

"I shall walk in the Light of the Flame, now and forever."

As Aiwyn stood and left the booth, she considered the ritual words. She had been on both sides of the confessional countless times, but hearing the words recited in Argent's monotone made her think of them for the first time in many years. //Did Ariel avoid temptation and wickedness?// she wondered. //Or is being a Dark Lantern simply wickedness disguised as service to the Brelish crown?//

** Ariel (mid-morning) **
Ariel stood in the meadow under the vast bulk of Dejarn -- featureless slabs of rock forming a ceiling fifteen feet over her head, dotted with hidden murderholes, sealed (and concealed) access ports and recessed //everbright lanterns// such as the one directly above -- looking at a clipboard in each hand. Near her stood two Citadel cadets, male and female Humans barely out of adolescence, each nervously fidgeting as she read their reports, scowling. "A Lantern between assignments is still a Citadel officer," Captain ir'Morgen had reminded her after she'd reported to him four nights before. "I need officers who can take reports, command the watch, evaluate my cadets...you get the idea." //What could I do but salute? So here I am, keeping busy.//

She held up the clipboard in her left hand. "These Warforged Titan tracks. How old are they?"

The girl glanced at the other cadet, then stood at attention. "Four days, Lantern Ariel. Lieutenant Renuld's report indicates the tracks crossed the northward march of the Swords of Liberty in a straight line, west-southwest to east-northeast. The wet ground kept the prints fresh and easy to identify. They had to have been made after the Swords of Liberty passed, else the army's tracks would have obliterated those of a single Titan."

"Very good, Cadet. Now, where do you think this Titan came from...and where is it going?"

The girl's face went slack as she considered, before she caught herself with a tiny shake of the head. "A line continuing west-southwest would pass north of Mistmarsh, almost through Baran's Keep, and eventually reach the Dagger River north of Wroat. There are Warforged Titans in both the Bear's Woods and northern Faded Forest, assigned to logging crews. Perhaps one escaped. As to its destination, Lieutenant Renuld followed the tracks into the foothills, until the ground became too rocky and the trail was lost. A line in that direction would cross the higher mountains and enter Darguun."

"So one day a Titan is chopping trees, when it suddenly decides to break free and run hundreds of miles, straight into the Goblin lands? That story doesn't scan." The girl looked crestfallen until Ariel continued, "But I have no better theory. Best advise the Flight Captain, have one of her //soarwood skiffs// take a look. Sometimes things can be seen from above that a ground patrol would miss."

The girl nodded, and Ariel now held up the other clipboard. The look she gave the male cadet was withering. His eyes widened and he took a half-step back before returning to attention.

"This says we've lost the Gnome?"

The boy nodded reluctantly. "Lantern Stellos was fo-following the Gnome at last night's bonfire ga...gathering. He used the distraction caused by the Aundairian Wizard's //pyrotechnics// to gi-give Stellos the slip."

//Of course it was Lucan Stellos//, thought Ariel. //He helped crack the Swords of Liberty's intentions, and is no slouch in battle...but I don't trust him. Looks like a Karrn, the gloomy bastard.//

"What of his Creature, the small red flying thing?"

The boy pointed to the clipboard he'd brought and took a breath. "La-Lantern Ariel, no one has seen the Imp in days, neither in Nnnn-New Cyre nor on patrol. Bu-But it was not with Juh...Jarvis Black, either."

"Let me make this clear to you -- both of you, so you can tell your commanders. This base is the mightiest military force in all Breland. Walking New Cyre's streets are heroes of might and magic, with power to rival the greatest figures of the Last War. So when I tell you Jarvis Black is the most dangerous being within fifty miles of this spot, you will understand my full meaning." Both cadets nodded, and the boy swallowed with a loud gulp.

"Your orders, Lantern?" asked the girl cadet.

"Advise the Flight Captain as I said. Tell the Watch Commander to place a round-the-clock King's Shield guard on Qarlo Sivis. When that Gnome goes to the privy, I want a Shield standing by with a bowl of rosewater and a wiping rag. Then, advise the Captain of Wands to list every caster who knows or has access to //dimensional anchor//, and make sure one is assigned to every sweep of Dejarn. They are to lock down the Imp on sight, so it can't just teleport away, assuming it has that power. Bring it directly to me, alive if possible. Now repeat that back."

The boy cleared his throat and recited Ariel's words verbatim, and the girl suppressed a chuckle when he spoke of privies and wiping. Ariel nodded, handing back one clipboard to the boy and sending him on his way. As he scurried for the aft ramp, she removed the papers from the other clipboard and handed them to the girl, who had to use both hands to corral the loose sheets.

"Your disguise is excellent, Cadet. You almost had me."

The girl stopped struggling with the papers, looked Ariel in the eye and smiled as her skin turned gray and her features dissolved into blankness. "What gave me away, Lantern Ariel?" The voice was an octave lower, but still female.

"While you were visualizing a map of Breland in your head, figuring the Warforged Titan's path, your face lost all motion. You didn't blink, your eyebrows went slack."

The Changeling nodded. "I will make a note of your observations, and work to correct them."

"Most people wouldn't have seen it. As I said, your disguise is excellent. But Changelings in the Dark Lanterns are almost always assigned to deep cover missions, sometimes for months, where you'll need to do a lot more than mimic a person's features. If you lose your form discipline for even a second, your mission could fail and lives put in danger. Especially your own. All right, dismissed."

The Changeling nodded again and dashed off towards the forward ramp. Ariel reached her right hand into the hidden pocket behind her tabard, visualized the things she wanted, and pulled her hand out -- clutching two folded broadsheet pages, printed on both sides. These she attached to the clipboard, and then she waited. The //tabard satchel// was a new item in the Lantern inventory -- a slender extra-dimensional space in a tall pocket inside a normal-looking cloth one wears over armor, warded against simple detection magic and able to hold several flat or small objects, like scrolls, wands, even small weapons like a dagger or shuriken -- but no need to advertise it to her guest. She had earlier removed the scroll with the orders for Faye and Rook, but there was still one sheet in the space.

There was little activity around her. Unlike when Argonth stopped at the town for several hours four weeks ago on its normal route towards Sterngate, there were no merchants camped, no farmers hawking eggs and early spring vegetables from their gardens -- just a perimeter of armed Citadel sentries around the fore and aft ramps that allowed transport on and off the floating fortress. Beyond Dejarn's shelter, rain had once again started to fall. She looked north; along the Orien trade route, Ariel could barely see horses and riders in the mist, moving east at a gallop across the road. The nearest Citadel sentry, beneath another recessed light about a hundred feet away facing New Cyre's west gate, suddenly raised his shield and lowered his spear, calling out "Halt! Who approaches?"

Muttering a silent oath, Ariel walked rapidly towards the sentry. She could now see the approaching figure stop. She was short but slender, with a heavy shield and thin-bladed sword slung behind her back.

"Aiwyn Elenwyd, Foot-Captain in the Legion of the Pure, Knight of the Holy Order of Templars, representing Her Eminence Jaela Daran, Keeper of the Silver Flame."

"Your business, Lady Aiwyn?"

"Her business is with me, sentry," Ariel said from close behind before Aiwyn could respond. "Dismissed." The sentry turned, saw Ariel and saluted with his spear before turning smartly on his heel to find another spot to stand watch.

Ariel beckoned, and Aiwyn stepped out of the rain to join her. //Reunions are awkward//, she thought.

"Dear sister, you look radiant in silver," said Ariel.

"Sweet sister, it has been too long," replied Aiwyn. Neither moved to embrace the other. After a moment of silence, Ariel looked more closely at Aiwyn's tabard. "You're wearing the //Amicus Ursinus//, and the symbol of Lhesh Haruuc's clan."

"It was appropriate, given the experience we shared at Sterngate. I was glad that my mission brought me to Breland. There were -- are -- unholy forces at work."

"I was sorry we couldn't meet after that to catch up. You may have heard I was captured and drugged by the Vadalis traitors," Ariel said. "I'm glad you're here now. But before we board, I'd like your opinion on something." She handed the clipboard to Aiwyn, who unfolded and glanced at one broadsheet, then the other -- then held both up side by side, dropping the clipboard.

"Is this a test, Ariel? Like when Father played memory games with us at the breakfast table?"

Ariel smiled, but then shook her head. "These are real. We have people parsing and analyzing other copies we've taken, but I think a fresh perspective would help us."

"Well...The //Voice of Breland// is saying Prince-I mean, Governor Oargev betrayed King Boranel...that hundreds of 'Cyran degenerates have already snuck across the Seawall Mountains from Darguun,' and now thousands more are coming...all armed by Hobgoblins and ready to strike, 'unless the true patriots of Breland rise up and strike first.' This...is madness. And the drawing...were I from Breland, seeing King Boranel about to be stabbed in the back by his own cousin, after all he'd done to give shelter to Cyran refugees, would make me angry."

"Dear sister...we __are__ from Breland. Sharn-born. Mother took you to Thrane when we were nine, but..."

"Yes, yes, Ariel. I misspoke. Shall I continue?" Ariel nodded.

"The //Voice of Breland// also appears strongly opposed to both Regent Kor and Prince Bortan, the two main claimants to Breland's throne...here's something about 'democratic rule by a Parliament that represents the common Brelish values we all share.' A different kind of madness, if you ask most any Thrane."

Ariel scoffed, then nodded to the other broadsheet. Aiwyn scanned it and resumed.

"The //Voice of Cyre// also accuses Governor Oargev of betrayal...only this time he has betrayed the Cyran people by bending the knee to the Brelish crown...for 'money and a job.' The drawing is...obscene. Boranel and Oargev together urinating on what I assume is the Cyran crown. The same hand drew both it and the one in the //Voice of Breland//. The rest is a litany of crimes and offenses against Cyran refugees in Aundair, Karrnath...and Thrane. Perhaps some of these claims are true; but were I from Cyre" -- and here Aiwyn turned her stern gaze on her sister, who shrugged in response -- "I would probably feel that all nations are against me, and even my own Prince has shown himself a traitor. 'Time to rise up and defend ourselves,' it says here, 'since no one else will.' Then...'seek help from those considered monsters.' Is this referring to allying with Darguun or even Droaam?"

"That was my conclusion as well. Thank you, dear sister. Anything else?"

"Both //Voices// were made by the same printing press, from the same paper stock, using the same ink. Both are dated this month, which means published and distributed in Therendor?" Ariel nodded, and Aiwyn added, "I imagine there must also be a //Voice of Thrane//, //Voice of Aundair// and //Voice of Karrnath//? Flame only knows what lies those publications might contain."

"There are, but so far as we know, nothing in them in this or prior issues is germane to the battle we just fought. Interesting note: Hundreds of copies of the //Voice of Cyre// were posted in High Walls, the Cyran ghetto in Lower Sharn. None were found in New Cyre. The //Voice of Breland// was found in the Swords of Liberty camp, taken from Swords of Liberty corpses, and confiscated from Swords of Liberty captives. Many times the ink was badly smudged from having been read so often. Reports are coming in that Brelish villages visited by the Army and the Citadel have also posted it, or passed copies from person to person."

Aiwyn refolded the two sheets and offered them back, but Ariel held up a hand. "Keep them, we have plenty. Shall we board?" Aiwyn rolled the sheets together and placed them in a belt pouch too small to hold them without crumpling.

Together they walked, Templar and Dark Lantern, towards the aft ramp, leaving the clipboard behind.

** Aiwyn (mid-morning) **
The wide ramp led upward at a shallow angle into Dejarn. At the top of the ramp, Aiwyn saw a team with two empty carts. Glancing back to the west gate of New Cyre, she could just see a horse-drawn wagon emerging from the misting rain. She glanced at her fingers; the tips were ink-stained from when she'd rolled up the two sheets and stowed them in the //haverpouch// at her belt. Then Ariel was talking again.

"Dear sister, you will need to check in your shield, and your sword will be peace-bonded before we can begin the tour." Two young Citadel agents, a Human male and a long-legged Shifter female, stepped forward and saluted crisply. Behind them was a simple chest, wood with iron bands and a common lock -- open and empty.

"Of course," said Aiwyn with a nod. She unslung her heavy shield and handed it to the Shifter, and allowed the Human, little more than a boy by his looks, to tie a blue silk cord around her thinblade and its sheath -- meant less to prevent the weapon from being drawn than to prove it had been if the cords were broken. The knots were supposed to be complicated enough to not be replicated, but Aiwyn suspected the cord had also been enchanted, perhaps with an //arcane mark// or even an //alarm// spell.

While the boy worked and the Shifter reverently placed //Baelual// in the chest, she asked, "Before the battle, sweet sister, had you ever been on this fortress?"

"In twenty years of Citadel service, I'd never even seen Dejarn," Ariel said, turning to lead the way onto the broad ramp. Aiwyn checked the binding on her Thinblade and followed. They crossed paths with the cart team coming down, wheels rattling loudly as they passed; she looked back and saw the wagon pull up, the Human and Shifter taking charge of the horses.

The ramp led to a vast open bay, eighty by two hundred feet, with a ceiling perhaps thirty feet high. There were broad shelves, pallets, and crates of every size and shape -- enough to make the vast space look cramped in the light of at least threescore ceiling-mounted //everbright lanterns// and just as many wall sconces with //coldfire torches//. Busy clerks in blue uniforms walked or scurried or pulled carts. "There's another bay like this at the fore ramp," Ariel said. "Just as cluttered."

A blue uniformed figure stepped up and saluted. The male Human was young, tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, clean-shaven, and clutched a clipboard in his left hand; Aiwyn could see papers and two braided cords with what looked like slender bronze batons attached. His bearing was of someone who had often spoken to people of high rank. He glanced from Ariel's face to Aiwyn's; Aiwyn saw her sister smile, while she held her stern glare until he decided to address Ariel.

"Lantern Ariel, I am Etan ir'Dorn, of the King's Shields, your guide and escort for the duration of the Lady Aiwyn's time aboard Dejarn." Etan fussed with the clipboard until he held the cords. The bronze batons clinked together softly.

//Just so,// Aiwyn thought. //A younger son from one of Breland's noble families.//

Ariel took a cord without comment, and hung it around her neck. Etan offered the other to Aiwyn, saying, "Lady Aiwyn, this keystick allows access to all common spaces of Dejarn, and to selected other locations with Lantern Ariel's approval. It is enchanted to trigger alarms and wards if you enter any unauthorized areas, or leave it unattended. You need to wear it at all times."

"It's 'Templar Aiwyn.'" She too hung the cord around her neck.

"Of course. My apologies, Templar Aiwyn." A pause as he looked around and retrieved a small folded towel from the table, which he offered to Aiwyn with a quick nod at her fingers. She returned the nod, took the towel and had started wiping at the ink stains when Etan said, "Lantern Ariel, where shall we go first?"

"Street level, I should think -- the main deck, and then the Bridge to pay our respects to the Captain." Aiwyn nodded, and soon they left the loading bay, but not before Etan took a //coldfire torch// from a sconce and left the clipboard on a table with a dozen others. He led them into a maze a of twisty little corridors, all alike, with the occasional narrow stairway leading upward. Along the way, he said, "Though Dejarn is a land-based fortress crewed by civilians with a Citadel garrison, we use naval terms here: D eck, hatch, portholes, bulkheads, fore and aft, bow and stern, port and starboard."

"So, Etan ir'Dorn?" Ariel said as they walked and climbed. "Related to Baron Curzon then?"

"Yes, Lantern Ariel. I have the honor to be the Baron's younger son."

"Good man, the Baron. A true friend to the Crown. Is that how you wound up with this assignment?"

"I'd be lying if I said it played no part, but I also have experience. Served three years on Argonth with the regular Army before my Citadel application was accepted last year."

Aiwyn interrupted. "Have you combat experience, Agent ir'Dorn?"

Etan paused and shook his head. "I turned sixteen a week before the Day of Mourning, Templar Aiwyn. Three weeks after, my older brother came back to us in Mistmarsh, safe but.... He'd been assigned to Prince Brask's unit at the Cyran border. The Prince led his troops into that dead-gray mist, looking for his sister, Princess Borann, and her army. Two hundred went in, less than forty returned, including the Prince and my brother. But the War was still on, so I decided to enlist. Father was livid, but as I was no longer likely to inherit his title and lands, it seemed right to at least try to live up to my brother's example. There were so many soldiers going home in the confusion. Argonth's garrison was decimated, only a skeleton crew left, so she was stranded near Sterngate. They were glad to have me, and in about a month, as we all dared hope the Mourning wasn't coming for Breland, enough of our people came back to make Argonth battle-worthy. But instead of charging off to The Mournland, we got new orders. Sail along Breland's borders, show our banners and strength. In three years, no one tested our strength. After the Treaty was signed and the Army went back to peacetime numbers, the garrison changed 'til it was almost entirely made up of Wardens, Bailiffs and Brelish Rangers reporting to the Royal Steward."

"Who happens to be Prince Bortan," Ariel stage-whispered to her sister. To Etan, she said in her normal voice, "So mighty Argonth is reduced to a mobile border post?"

"Indeed, Lantern. When I left we were down to two Army platoons -- one infantry, one cavalry -- and a Citadel detachment that included two //soarwood skiff// squadrons Though we were never attacked, cross-border raids into Breland from Droaam and Darguun increased every year I was aboard. We sometimes tried to pursue, but the raiders would always be long gone."

At the top of a stairwell, the trio were hit by the strong smell of sewage, coming from the other side of a closed hatch. Etan hurried the Elves along the next corridor. "Dejarn is a community of nearly twelve hundred, more with the prisoners we've had to take. That many people produce...waste, which must be drained from the upper decks, collected down here, and eventually disposed of."

"Forgive me, Agent ir'Dorn," Aiwyn said, "but you make it sound like taking on prisoners is something new."

"It is, dear sister," replied Ariel. "Unlike Argonth, Dejarn has no brig. So the prisoners we've taken, like the Manifest Legion summoners and Mror Holds sellswords, are being kept in improvised cells -- 'til we rendezvous with Argonth."

"That's one difference between the two fortresses," Etan added. "Argonth has many siege engines, more barracks space, a fully-outfitted brig with 80 racks -- um, beds -- but Dejarn is superior in most every other way. You'll see, Templar Aiwyn. This way, we're almost at the main deck."

They continued on, and soon passed a hatch into an alley that could have been plucked from any town in Khorvaire. Narrow, open to the gray sky above, cobblestones on the deck below, featureless building walls to both sides. They left the alley and entered a broad avenue. The buildings on both sides looked like a miniature version of Sharn, including a squat gray tower topped with a giant Gorgon's head. "House Cannith's quarters," Etan said as they passed. "Dejarn has nearly two hundred Canniths aboard. They operate the engines and run the many forges and smithies needed to maintain the equipment and keep us well-stocked in weapons and armor."

"All but one forge," Ariel said. "Loaned to House Medani." Aiwyn glanced at her sister but said nothing. At the end of the avenue was a square tower of smooth tan stone, topped by a dome made from triangular panes of glass on a metal frame. Four sentries stood at the broad double doors. Above the doors was the emblem of the King's Citadel, ten feet across and in full color. Two neat little circular courtyards, each about 15 feet in diameter and ringed by well-maintained thorny hedges, stood to either side of the main entrance, about thirty feet away from each other and the double doors.

"The Bridge Tower," Ariel said, waving one hand with a flourish much like the priest Argent had done earlier. "The Captain awaits the pleasure of our company. Agent Etan, you're dismissed. When you see your father again, give him my regards."

//Ariel was always more outgoing,// Aiwyn thought. //I have not forgotten that, three years ago, T hrane and Breland were still at war. Ariel acts as if it was all a game. Here she is, bantering, casually dropping secrets even as she keeps the real truths hidden. She is a Dark Lantern in full. // And then, // she wants something from me. //

** Ariel (midday) **
With Etan ir'Dorn gone, Aiwyn had fewer questions and the tour went faster. The fact that the elemental engine rooms were off-limits made things easier. Ariel had been to the observation lounge overlooking the three rooms, and the view of piping, gears, cables and ducting was incomprehensible. At the center of each room was a metallic, rune-carved chamber; inside each chamber was a large Khyber shard containing a bound Elder Elemental -- Earth, Air and Fire. A separate fourth engine, with a bound Elder Water Elemental, supposedly not needed for propulsion except when crossing small lakes, was off-limits even to her. //The water pressure in my guest quarters is excellent//, she thought.

The Bridge was duly impressive, under its //glassteel// dome. Helm and weapons controls were near the bow end of the dome. To port was a huge tapestry map of Breland, hung from the dome and lashed to the deck at the bottom corners to keep from moving; to starboard hung an equally-large tapestry map, zoomed in on New Cyre and the surrounding areas, from PrairieHearth at the south edge to the end of the Seawall Mountains at the northeast edge; broad walkways connected all of these to the throne-like Captain's chair astern. Below, in two parallel inset chambers separated by the walkway connecting bow and stern, were desks used by the other senior officers: To port were the Citadel commanders, the Captain of Swords, Captain of Shields and Captain of Wands; to starboard sat the Watch Commander, Flight Captain, and the leader of the smiths, maintenance techs and engine room operators known as the "Chief Cannith." Several metal stairways connected the lower level to the walkways, and when the Captain of Dejarn, Bazil ir'Morgen, was seated he had a full view of all six desks.

Primary helm control was a simple-looking ship's wheel, next to a pedestal with throttle controls that communicated directly to the engine rooms and the actual pilots.

"Where are the controls for how high this thing goes?" Aiwyn asked the helmsman, who stood at attention and said nothing.

"Dejarn is a floating fortress, dear sister -- not a flying fortress," Ariel replied, leading her sister away from the wheel before the poor boy broke something. "Our altitude is a constant forty feet above ground level when moving, dropping to twenty feet when anchored like we are now. Of course, here on the Bridge it's more like three hundred feet. I've been thoroughly briefed on Dejarn's specifications." //Who needs a guide?//

There were two weapons consoles, port and starboard, sitting on either side of a large table carved with a top-down schematic of Dejarn showing the location of the various on-board weapons and defenses. Next to each chair was a cluster of speaking tubes in a vertical box. Almost unnoticed in front of the tapestry map of Breland was a flat round white stone, about three feet in diameter and a foot thick, engraved with runes, set into a metal frame like an end table with four stubby legs. Three foot-long crystals -- red, blue and green -- were bound together with silver and copper wire and mounted at the end of a multi-jointed swinging arm attached to the metal frame. Smaller crystals and short metal rods decorated the rest of the frame all around the white stone.

"A House Sivis //speaking stone//?" Aiwyn asked. "How is that here?"

"Over the years the Lanterns have...liberated several stones, and the King's Wands have experimented with them. We have a...network, that's the word. //Speaking stones// that connect Dejarn to Brokenblade Castle, Argonth, various other places. Of course, operating a //speaking stone// normally requires a Gnome with the Mark of Scribing. It's now possible for anyone with arcane talent to use our stone's basic //message// function. But to send full illusions -- to be able to see and hear someone standing by another of our stones -- still requires a Gnome's expertise."

"Expertise House Sivis gives willingly?"

"Sovereigns, no!" Ariel replied, chuckling at Aiwyn's pained look. "We use excoriates. Behold."

Almost like a conjurer's trick, a male Gnome appeared at the top of the steps leading from the Captain of Wands' desk. His bald scalp was half-covered with the brilliant blue-green-purple hues of a Greater Dragonmark, with the tail end going down the left side of his neck and disappearing under his black silk tunic. As he walked slowly towards the frame-wrapped //speaking stone//, a second figure come up the same steps and followed close behind; a female Dwarf, burly, dressed in a blue King's Shields tabard over full chainmail, mithral links that made no sound as she moved. Her battleaxe was not peace-bonded, and she nodded once as she made eye contact with Ariel.

"He doesn't look happy," Aiwyn observed, "and that guard looks more like a jailer."

"Qarlo Sivis is never happy," Ariel replied, "but he knows that without the sanctuary we've given him, he'd be long dead. You're right, dear sister -- the King's Shield watching him is new. There's a credible threat on the loose; our old friend Jarvis Black. Seen him around lately?"

"Not since the battle," Aiwyn said warily. "When did Jarvis become a threat?"

"He's never //not// been a threat. We've just been fortunate that his efforts, on orders he may have from The Trust in Zilargo, mostly aligned with ours. Stopping the supernatural enemies, preventing war with Darguun, and so on."

"Why would he kill a Gnome who poses no threat?" They both had turned to watch as Qarlo Sivis started touching the rods and crystals around the //stone//, seemingly at random. The Dwarf stood by, scanning the area for danger as if the Bridge of Dejarn could come under attack at any moment, her gaze lingering on Aiwyn a few seconds each time. //I'm sure Aiwyn wore that same look when she stood by our Princess Deardra//.

"The Trust, House Sivis, the Zil government: It's impossible for an outsider to say where one ends and the others begin. Believe me, we Dark Lanterns have tried to crack that puzzle box for years, and all we have is conjecture and some agents who died in //totally// plausible ways. It's possible Jarvis really isn't with The Trust...or he is, but is unaware of his real chain of command. All I know is, a Lantern was tailing him -- good Agent, maybe Dejarn's best, next to me -- and Jarvis pulled some trick and vanished. His Imp friend is gone, too. Now, all the Houses, as a rule, hate their excoriates -- especially the ones continuing to use their Dragonmarks, like Qarlo. So if Jarvis has gone rogue, I'm thinking he's about to do House Sivis a favor."

"And his bodyguard? You think she can stop him?"

"The King's Shields' first duty is to protect the Royal Family. You should know how that is. Maura there spent two years in King Boranel's personal guard, right next to Three, a legend among Warforged and the late King's loyal friend."

"Three was at the Battle of Brey Crossing, 22 years ago."

"As were you, dear sister. It was your Legion of the Pure that cut the King off from the rest of his army."

"I'm glad you remember your history, sweet sister. Three was a worthy adversary. A Paladin of Dol Arrah now, like Tira Miron before she embraced the Silver Flame."

"Right. Anyway, if Jarvis is indeed after Qarlo, Maura will...slow him down if he comes with physical or magical force."

The Gnome made a couple of final touches, and the three crystal rods mounted over the //speaking stone// glowed, projecting a combined white light on the deck a few feet away. "Well?" came a voice from above and behind them. Both Elves turned to see a Human standing by the command chair -- darkly tanned with short salt-and-pepper hair and matching beard. He looked at them and smiled, teeth so white they almost glowed, even as the bridge crew scrambled to attention and a woman called out, "Captain on the Bridge!" Ariel smiled back and saluted. //He's not that stealthy; must have used an invisibility potion.//

"Templar Aiwyn Elenwyd of Thrane, welcome to Dejarn. Captain Bazil ir'Morgen, at your service. Give me a moment, then we can talk with more privacy. Qarlo?" He waved his right arm, and the bridge crew returned to their tasks.

"Captain," the Gnome responded with a rasp, "our //speaking stone// is working; it is Argonth's that does not answer, other than by the message I just now receive." Qarlo's face went slack, eyes unfocused as he recited: //Dejarn, start. Projector has failed. Will trade for spares when we rendezvous on the Twelfth. Prepare Mrorian prisoners for transfer at that time. Argonth, end//.

"Four more days parked in plain view? Dejarn hasn't spent this much time in one spot since the day she launched." The Captain sat and shook his head. "Argonth is older, bigger...slower. Guess it can't be helped. But I will have words with her Captain when we meet. All right, Master Sivis -- send this message: 'Argonth, start. Inform Colonel Devra ir'Lashan that transfers are approved. She is to contact Captain ir'Morgen directly for details. Dejarn, end.' Then prepare the //stone// for full communication with Lord Commander Vron at Brokenblade Castle, while I greet our esteemed guest. Templar Aiwyn, Lantern Ariel, with me. The rest, as you were."

** Aiwyn (early afternoon) **
Dejarn's Captain waved a platinum keystick, and a set of double doors parted silently. Bazil ir'Morgen was tall for a Human, bronze-skinned, and up close the laugh lines and forehead wrinkles of middle age were apparent when he smiled and stood back to let the two Elves enter first. Just inside, Aiwyn paused. The room was rectangular, about 30 feet long and half that wide, dominated by a long well-polished darkwood table with a dozen low chairs around it. Two silver platters -- one piled high with breads, sliced meats and cheeses, the other with a colorful selection of fruits and vegetables -- were at the center of the table by a tea service made from Karrnathi bone china, flanked by linen napkins, small china plates and silver utensils with china handles. The teapot sat on a flat magewright's warming stone, whistling softly. The walls -- //no, bulkheads// -- were paneled in bronzewood, with small potted composyte trees at the corners and //everbright lanterns// inset into the ceiling directly over each. The ceiling was in two sections, with a long narrow split down the middle open to the dome above providing natural light. Two smaller doors -- //hatches?// -- one opposite the the double doors they'd entered, the other next to it on Aiwyn's right -- //starboard// -- were closed. Along the wall opposite that side door were five pedestals, about three feet tall and equally spaced, with odd-looking sculptures in bronze adorned with gems atop each. Three pedestals -- the one furthest from the double doors and the two closest -- were made of gray marble. The other two were of white marble.

A young man, dark-haired and handsome, wearing what she'd come to recognize as a Citadel officer's uniform, sat at the head of the table opposite the double doors. He stood as they entered, with a smile less toothy than the Captain's, yet warmer in Aiwyn's estimation. He seemed familiar, but before Aiwyn could hazard a guess Captain ir'Morgen walked past her and said, "My Prince, may I introduce Aiwyn Elenwyd, Foot-Captain in the Legion of the Pure, Knight of the Holy Order of Templars, representing Her Eminence Jaela Daran, Keeper of the Silver Flame, and her sister, Ariel Elenwyd of the King's Dark Lanterns. Aiwyn and Ariel, you are in the presence of His Royal Highness, Prince Julian ir'Wyarn of Breland, son of the late King Boranel and a Flight Lieutenant in the King's Swords."

"Please, Captain, we agreed on that. While serving on Dejarn I am just Lieutenant Wynarn."

"Of course, Lieutenant. I'm not used to having so many dignitaries boarding my fort. The former Prince of Cyre, the Iron Council's Ambassador, and now a Templar of Thrane." Bazil walked along the starboard bulkhead, stopped at the center of the table and grabbed a plate. He shrugged at the food and said apologetically, "please understand, Dejarn is not meant to entertain guests." //Those platters could feed Argent's entire congregation//, Aiwyn thought.

"That's quite all right, Captain, this is far more than I expected," Aiwyn said, before giving a brief, formal bow to the prince. "Your Highness."

Julian shook his head as he strode over to the Elves along the port bulkhead, his smile growing with each step. Taking their hands in turn, he said, "Lantern Ariel, Templar Aiwyn, I insist you call me Julian." He held Aiwyn's hands a beat longer; they were warm. "I understand you were recently in charge of protecting my sister Deardra. How is she?"

"Very well when I last saw her...Julian." The prince chuckled and stepped back, turning to face the room.

"Deardra was one of my tutors when I was a boy. Very studious, poised and cultured -- neither a warrior like Borann nor an adventurer like Audrina. Our loss was Thrane's gain. Her wise counsel is missed in these foreboding times. She could always stand up to Bortan."

Princess Deardra had talked in detail about her family during Aiwyn's time in her service, so Julian's rapid-fire name-checking didn't faze her. She smiled briefly and nodded. "Of course. She spoke highly of you, and was most proud when she heard you'd joined the Citadel."

"That is good to know. I had hoped that, with the war over, we might see each other more. Alas, duty continues to get in the way." Julian took another step, next to Ariel, and said, "Captain, this is your meeting. Please proceed."

"Right," ir'Morgen said with a nod. "First thing, come and eat." He took a fork and deftly stabbed a large melon slice. "Templar Aiwyn, your sister tells me you prefer Thranish tea. So..." he nodded towards the pot. Soon the four of them were seated around the far end of the table, eating and making small talk. Julian had helped himself to the meats and cheeses and sat again at the head of the table; Ariel followed suit and sat to his left. Aiwyn chose the fruits and vegetables, and sat to the prince's right close to the gray marble pedestal with the bulky sculpture; the Captain sat to her right with two plates, one from each platter. The others complimented the tea, but Aiwyn caught a smoky aftertaste, as if the pot had spent too long on the warming stone; the lukewarm tea at the Church in New Cyre had been better.

"I recognize this," Aiwyn said, gesturing to the object on the pedestal. She turned her chair, which was not on wheels but moved silently and easily all the same, leaned forward and tilted her head. "I've seen it, in Thrane."

"You must have traveled south from Aruldusk to the border," Captain i'rMorgen said. "That's Chydris, first of our floating fortresses." Aiwyn noticed a small bronze plaque on the pedestal, on which **CHYDRIS 910-987 YK** was inscribed. "We lost her at the Battle of Cairn Hill, eleven years ago. Heat of the moment, a sudden course change to cover our flank...and she ran aground. The Thranes were closing in, so we had to abandon her." He had their full attention; his voice was lower, more husky. "The chief pilot died, not from the impact; the arcane feedback from the disabled steering controls caused a stroke. I saw it happen, released my grip on the controls before I joined her. I was lucky to come away with a blinding headache, bleeding form the nose and ears. As her second, I gave the command to break the Khyber shards and free the Elementals. Their rampage covered our escape, but left Chydris a dead hulk."

"Many Thranes died from your decision," Aiwyn said. "Still, it was war. You acted to save your people. There is no dishonor in that."

"You are gracious, Templar Aiwyn. Indeed, they gave me a medal for my quick thinking, and the King read my name in the Roll of Honour, which was not normally done for members of noble families. At the time I felt they were trying to sell Cairn Hill as a Brelish victory. So when the King shook my hand I...laughed in his face. He clasped my shoulder with his free hand and said, 'I understand, son. Don't dwell on those who were lost. Focus on the lives you saved.'"

"I remember that," Julian said. "Father spoke of it when he heard I'd been assigned to Dejarn. He thought highly of you, Captain." Aiwyn turned, and saw the prince exchange glances with her sister.

"I'll never forget that moment. King Boranel wasn't just a great leader; he was a good man." The others lapsed into silence, and Aiwyn bowed her head out of respect.

"As I was saying...these are scale models of Breland's mobile forts, in the order they were commissioned. Chydris, Argonth, Dejarn, Veldarren and Ursa. Veldarren was lost to the Goblins at the Battle of Marguul Pass, and Ursa...." ir'Morgen sighed. "Bigger than Veldarren, nearly twice Dejarn's size, but by then Breland was shorthanded. Most of our artificers were in the field with the new Warforged units, so Ursa's enchantments were done by magewrights managed by the few artificers we could spare. Ursa went far over budget, was launched three years late, and her performance never came close to battle worthiness. She took one very slow trip, to the new border we suddenly had with the Hags of Droaam, between the Graywall Mountains and Manta Bay, north of Shadowlock Keep. There Ursa was safely grounded and turned into a normal fort. My first command." Bazil chuckled at that.

"Sitting here on this fort, it's hard to fathom something even bigger moving under its own power," Aiwyn said. "Dejarn is quite impressive." Ariel sipped her tea. The Captain nodded, then both he and the Prince stood.

"In any event, congratulations are in order." Bazil dipped a hand into his tabard and came out with a gilt-edged scroll, tied with a blue ribbon and sealed with blue wax. He smiled broadly and presented the scroll to the Prince. "Lieutenant Julian ir'Wynarn, by order of His Highness Kor ir'Wynarn, Regent of Breland and Lord Commander of the King's Citadel, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Lieutenant Commander, and assigned to command of all King's Citadel assets on Argonth, including the //soarwood skiff// squadrons."

Ariel beamed and said "Congratulations." Aiwyn tried a smile, found it felt natural, and held it until Julian saw it and nodded.

Julian took the scroll. "Thank you, Captain. May I choose my team?"

"Of course, within reason."

"What about you, Lantern Ariel? I'll need a Dark Lantern at my side." Aiwyn glanced and saw her sister blush. //A century later, and she still plays with Human expressions.// She controlled a scowl, leaving her face neutral.

"Actually, my Prince, Lantern Ariel is under orders for a different mission. Your Dark Lanterns liaison will be Lucan Stellos."

"Stellos?' Julian scoffed. "He looks like a Karrn."

"I know, right?" Ariel laughed, then said, "he's a good field agent with the full trust of Lord Commander Vron. You'll be in good hands."

"Well, if you say so, Ariel -- I accept Lantern Lucan. That sounds odd. Well, I should go meet Lantern Stellos straightaway." Julian stood and looked at the Captain. "Anything else I should know?"

"When we rendezvous, you'll fly over with two squadrons of the Mark Two //soarwood skiffs//, with the pilots of your choice. Colonel ir'Lashan will bring Argonth's complement of the Mark Ones, so we can start upgrading them. Should be quite the show for the locals. Your full manifest is with the Watch Commander. Check with the other Captains if you have questions or concerns. Dismissed, and congratulations."

Julian saluted and crossed to the double doors, stopping long enough to turn and bow slightly. "Templar Aiwyn, a pleasure to meet you. Lantern Ariel, I may seek your advice later." Then he passed through the doors and was gone.

Bazil poured more tea into fresh cups and pushed them across the table to the Elves. "Dejarn is not Argonth. This fortress engages in research and investigation. We do not follow regular routes; our movements are never announced. We sped here and set down by this refugee town because the Regent needed us to help stop a bad situation from becoming a total calamity. His late brother the King swore to protect the Cyrans who accepted his offer of shelter. Who could have guessed we'd have to protect them against our own? But here's a question that may not have occurred to either of you: Why was Dejarn even in the vicinity, able to intervene?"

Aiwyn sipped her tea, then cradled the cup in her hands to feel the warmth, but held her tongue. As she expected, Ariel spoke. "The moons."

"Just so. Templar Aiwyn, you may not have noticed through all this cloud cover and rain we've had since the battle, but far above something remarkable is happening. For at least the past five nights, Eberron's moons have been rising and setting at the same time. They are showing the same phases, too, with no change."

"What do you mean? Showing the same phases?"

"If the skies were clear, tonight you'd be able to look up and see Eyre as a full moon, Zarantyr as a half-moon, Nymm as a waning gibbous only a day or two after being full, and the rest. That's what the moons looked like on the Third. It's what they still looked like last night, and probably how they'll appear tonight. All twelve rising and setting as they did five days ago."

Aiwyn's mind reeled with the news. "If there's one thing the Church teaches about Eberron's skies, it's when the moons are full. You're saying Eyre is still full, five nights after it should have begun waning?"

"Exactly that. Our King's Wands include experts in scrying. They first felt magical stirrings two weeks ago, coming from eastern Breland, or maybe northern Darguun. Nothing definite, only that whatever it was would start in early Eyre. I started moving Dejarn in this general direction, figuring that reducing the distance might improve their accuracy. When Lord Commander Kor ordered us to New Cyre at maximum speed, we were already en route."

"But the sun," Aiwyn said. "The days are still getting longer; even under cloudy skies, I feel it." She looked at her sister; her smirk confirmed that she already knew all this. //A show, for my benefit//.

"Indeed. That is part of the mystery. The moons are affected, but not the sun, nor the stars, nor the Ring of Siberys, from what I've gleaned in a growing stack of daily briefings. Since then, we've started receiving reports from across Breland -- those parts not covered by these damned clouds, anyway. Beyond a certain point, our spotters and observers see the moons where they should be, not as they were."

"There's a radius, we think," Ariel cut in. "Some central point from which this effect has spread. Oh, and this should be of particular interest to you and the Church. So far, no unusual reports of lycanthropy. I mean, it has only been a few days, but there are known lycanthropes who voluntarily turn themselves in when a particular full moon is going to cause the change. Again, it's just a couple of werefolk in Cragwar and Starilaskur, but they kept to their schedule despite what the moons looked like."

"You suffer known lycanthropes to walk free?" Aiwyn's stern gaze had returned.

"Not the point, dear sister. Please get what I'm saying. Once the clouds lift, we should get hundreds more spotter reports, including from our friends in Zilargo, and even some in Aundair, Darguun and Thrane. We'll pinpoint the center of this phenomenon, and then..."

"And then:" Bazil said, "the King's Citadel will deal with it. I have orders for Lantern Ariel. She is forming a party to investigate, departing Dejarn on the Eleventh. She has access to all our assets to aid her mission, including our newest flying vessel, a prototype Mark Three //soarwood pinnace//."

"I thought of you first, Aiwyn. Please join me."

This was coming very quickly, but one thing was suddenly clear to Aiwyn. "This is why I'm here on Dejarn? So you can make your pitch?"

Ariel and Bazil exchanged glances. At Ariel's shrug, Bazil spoke. "As I said before, Dejarn is not used to hosting guests. We had to allow the Governor so he could be briefed on the tactical situation. Ambassador Mroranon needed to speak to the Holds sellswords we're keeping, to start arranging for their repatriation. You, Templar Aiwyn...having served Princess Deardra carries no such urgency, but your rank and status was just enough to be plausible when your sister and I were discussing this expedition. No one should think it odd that a Thranish officer was invited on a tour."

"And who else do you plan to invite?" Aiwyn quashed an urge to grasp the pommel of //Aer'Calyr//, still peace-bonded across her back, and instead let her hand brush the //haverpouch// at her belt.//Surprised it wasn't searched. I could have anything in here.//

Ariel started counting on her right hand. "We're likely to cross into Darguun, or run into more of those 'Dark Hands' types, so Choraan of the Silent Wolves for sure. We'll be in the wilderness, meaning Warden Nina Moondown. This phenomenon is surely magical, so I'll want Thomas of Aundair, the best arcanist I know. Golandar Kolkarun for when the fighting begins." She held up four outstretched fingers, then added her thumb. "And you, of course, dear sister."

Aiwyn reached her decision, and she smiled, which grew bigger when she saw Ariel taken aback. "Sweet sister, tempting as it is to be the thumb of your team, I cannot. My mission from the Keeper of the Flame leads me elsewhere."

Bazil interjected. "What's happening with the moons almost certainly represents a supernatural threat. Is that not the core mission of your Church?"

"Normally, yes. But Keeper Jaela Daran shared her vision with me. In her words... //I guide a great blue beast through a dark swamp. On safe ground, I see it hobbled by an infected wound. I treat and bind its leg, but before I reach the shelter of the cave, another appears, a twin with dark red fur. It snarls and stands on its hind legs. It wants the cave, though there is room for both. I feel anger in the air. Just beyond my lantern's light I sense other creatures, hungry and covetous.// That was it. Nothing about the skies, the moons or the Goblins. But I think her vision is related somehow to these." Aiwyn reached into the //haverpouch// and removed the two rolled up broadsheets, the //Voice of Breland// and //Voice of Cyre//.

"We're still analyzing those," Ariel said, scoffing. "You don't know what they mean."

"Someone I trust believes the Swords of Liberty might have been magically goaded into marching on New Cyre. These publications came from the same press, used the same ink, Their words are incitements to violence, attempts to reopen the wounds of the Last War. I intend to find the publisher, see what they know, stop them if I must." As she said the words, Aiwyn felt more and more certain that this was furthering the Keeper's mission.

Ariel shook her head. "Never should have shown them to you."

"But you did, and I thank you for doing so. Captain, Ariel, I will pray for the success of your mission. Preventing war with Darguun was, I believe, the first part of the Keeper's vision. If the blue beast is Breland, the swamp represented the threat of war with the Bugbear tribes at Sterngate. And if that be true, then the leg wound could well have been the Swords of Liberty, a threat to the beast's life if left to fester." She touched the bear's head medal. "I think I am not yet done serving the cause to preserve peace here in Breland, and across Khorvaire. For the red beast is out there."

"And that starts, not by stopping whatever might be changing all of Eberron's moons, but with a single printing press?" Ariel sighed, then looked at Bazil. "So be it. It's been a century, but even as toddlers I knew that when my sister makes up her mind, there's no changing it. Fine, Aiwyn. You need to go to Fith'Hagen, a small town on the shore of Silver Lake, close to the borders with Eldeen and Droaam. What is it, Captain?"

Bazil was holding another scroll, with a broken black seal. His smile was back, brilliant white. "Late word from Lord Commander Vron of the Dark Lanterns. He agrees with Templar Aiwyn, and has charged me with investigating these publications. Right now my hands are full with securing New Cyre and preparing to meet Argonth, so the young Prince can start his new assignment. But after that, I can promise the King's Citadel will find out what's what. You'd be most welcome to take part."

"With all due respect, Captain, I don't think I should wait that long."

Bazil's expression hardened. "I admire your zeal, Templar, and the medal you wear says Breland owes you for what you've done in the cause of peace. But you're not a Sentinel Marshal, and I cannot allow a Templar of the Church to walk into a Brelish town, alone, and start investigating. Especially not in Fith'Hagen. One hundred sixty years ago, your Silver Purge devastated that town. Right or wrong, people there still have little love for the Flame."

Aiwyn paused, considering. //If true, I would get no answers on my own. I can hardly pretend to not be what I am. Ariel can keep her deception and guile//. "Very well, Captain. I will wait, and join your investigation. But I implore you to start as soon as you can. If there is something behind this, they can't be allowed to hide their guilt or foment new plots."

"Excellent." The smile was back. "If you'd like, I can set you up in guest quarters right here in the Bridge tower. Down the hall from Ariel, in fact. I'll even assign Agent ir'Dorn as your guide and escort. Of course, you can go into town whenever you like. My sentries will recognize the keystick you wear so you can reboard any time."

** Ariel (evening) **
There was little else to do but take their leave and continue the "tour." Ariel had her assignment, meaning she was off Dejarn's duty roster and could devote full attention to the new mission, which started with her escorting Aiwyn from the bridge down to the port hangar deck to look at the Mark Three //soarwood pinnace//. The flying vessel, nestled in a special frame to protect the soarwood keel, was nearly twice as long as the Mark Two skiffs parked in a row near the hangar doors, but less boatlike. There were flat, stubby platforms along the body, tapered towards the bow and flared towards the stern. The sisters got in closer and Ariel saw the platforms were canvas stretched over thin wooden ribs, thicker on the forward edge and flattening towards the back.

"Forgive me, Ariel, but those don't look sturdy enough to climb on for boarding." Ariel could only shrug in response, as her attention was drawn to another canvas structure, this one flatter and rounder and extending vertically from the stern. Four thin ropes anchored it to the body.

"That one looks like a boat's rudder," she said.

"It is a rudder," came a voice from the other side of the pinnace. Faye d'Medani poked her head around the keel. "Small fort, Lantern Ariel. Didn't expect we'd have the -- wait, Aiwyn? Poking her head around the keel was

Ariel in her quarters, enjoying the water pressure. Julian knocks, she lets him in.

** Aiwyn (evening) **
Aiwyn in her guest quarters, meditating. Looking at the ink-stained towel and wondering about the men who'd fought Argent. Bazil knocks, she thanks him but sends him on his way.

//Back to **Season Four Preview**//