DROW HERITAGE UNLEASHED: Son of Light, Son of Darkness

By Bob Perrill

When an elf learns his father is a drow, his life is changed forever. Anger and confusion are slowly replaced by curiosity and final acceptance. To find out who he really is, he is driven to travel with his father into the deep caverns. As a healer, the values of his surface life are challenged in every t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Writers Branding LLC
• Release date: Oct 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781639455195

Bob Perrill

Bob Perrill received his BS in biology at Westmar College in 1975. After four years in the Air force, he spent 2 summers at Rocky Mountain National Park. In 1970, he moved to Tucson, Arizona where he continues to live. He worked at the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum for 15 years as the Assistant Curator of Plants. He was a field biologist for an additional 10 years, surveying for rare and endangered plant and animal species throughout the southwestern US, before joining the University of Arizona. He retired from the Valley Fever Center for Excellence after 18 years at the U of A. He currently volunteers as a naturalist at Saguaro National Park west where he gives talks, leads walks, and works in the visitor center. He is a nature photographer, has written several non-fiction articles and has contributed to many scientific publications. He lives with his wife on two acres of Sonoran Desert habitat and has a boojum tree nursery. He has a vivid imagination and has always been interested in fantasy. He has played in and run many roll playing games. He always encouraged the players to be creative, pushing their characters to the limit of their abilities. Flexibility within the adventure and having fun were always the most important aspect of the game.

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Drow Heritage Unleashed: Son of light Son of Darkness

Copyright © 2023 by Bob Perrill

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021907005

ISBN: (e-book) 978-1639455195

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Revised Date: 3/9/2023

The views expressed in this book are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Writers’ Branding

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www.writersbranding.com

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DroW

heritage

unleashed

SON OF LIGHT SON OF DARKNESS

BOB PERRILL

Contents

PART ONE

Dedication

Acknowledgement

Prolog - Roushina

Connate

Revelation

Calyx

Council Meeting

Forest Site

Transformation

Dradamus

Reconciliation

Transportation

Liana

Thonolon’s Grove

PART TWO

Underground

Pressure of Stone

The Tarkin Cat

Site of Disaster

First Contact

Nak’s Home

Visions

Paradigm Permutation

Dradamus Home

A Clean Slate

Training continues

Revenge

Formulation of Trust

Conflict and Loss

Dradamus Returns

Gordenna Lourda Ki

Escape

The Assassin’s Code

PART THREE

The Trail Down Under

Unwelcome Meeting

Coltara

House Urey

The Bragarren

The Streets of Ribbonstone

The Slave Pits

Awakening of House Baroden

House Molender

The Second Son

Reunited

Sarlag

The Birthday

PART FOUR

Anger within House Baroden

The Scream

The Hunt

Chambers of Death

The High Road

Showdown

Home

Epilog - From the Journal of Connate

Houses and Relevant Individuals

Pronunciation of Character’s Names

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to our son, Brian Perrill. Brian passed away in 2020 after a life-long battle with kidney disease. Brian loved life, enriched the lives of everyone he met, and brought excitement to fantasy games.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

To my brother, W. Alan Perrill, who waded through many versions of the manuscript and always came up with important suggestions, corrections, and encouragement to continue. I thank you very much.

PART ONE

PROLOG

Roushina

The forest floor lay as a black carpet in a midnight world, but stars in the moonless sky shined like brilliant fires to the eyes of the night stalkers. Starlight clearly illuminated their path between the trunks of hardwood trees. Like phantoms in the night, they passed and were gone as if nothing had ever been there. Not a leaf quivered, not the slightest whisper of sound betrayed the presence of unseen shadows slipping through the forest. Swift as a pack of wolves on the trail of a wounded deer, they sped through the night, and yet vibration-sensitive insects, normally quiet at the slightest footfall, never missed a beat in their nighttime serenade.

The forest creatures failed to notice the intruders because those who passed were not of the surface world. They were drow, the dark-skinned, distant cousins of the sylvan elves. Emerging from the Underdark, from the very bowels of the earth, they came bent on destruction. The name dark elf reflected not the color of their ebon skin, but the evil nature of their existence, the darkness buried deep within their twisted souls.

The first in line raised a hand and the column came to a halt. The leader peered into the clearing at a small elven village. Even though it was just past midnight, the village lay as if under a heavy overcast day to her keen vision. It has been a long time, she thought, but I am here now and the surface world will again know the name and deeds of Roushina.

Encircle the village, her nimble hands conveyed in the complex drow sign language. Wait for my signal to attack.

With a critical eye, she watched the drow encircled their unsuspecting prey. Looking for the slightest mistake made by any member of her band, she found none as nineteen wraith-like shadows quickly moved into position.

At just over three hundred years, Roushina was in her prime. Stouter than the normal slender drow, her small slightly pointed ears were almost hidden behind pure white hair that would tumble halfway down her back if not tied up and covered with a dark net. High cheek bones and narrow brows accentuated her large wide-spaced eyes. With smooth, flawless skin, she was quite attractive, until the wicked sneer spread across her face. She could hardly contain her sadistic glee at the personal revenge she was about to inflict on the elven race.

Roushina handpicked each member of her raiding band. Many of the warriors had been on raids before, but for Dradamus, this was his first. At only fifty-seven years, he was the youngest of the band, but his deadly skill with two long swords had come to the attention of all the drow houses. He was born in another house, but she had gone to great lengths to persuade him to accompany her. She wanted to sway him to join her house, House Baroden, fifth house in the underground drow city of Ribbonstone. If such a fighter could be brought under her roof, Roushina’s favor would raise considerably in the eyes of her Matron Mother Lanisha. In the drow’s matriarchal society, the Matron Mother was the undisputed ruler of her house. Nothing happened without her approval and to win her favor was to win great praise indeed.

Dradamus understood the reasons behind Roushina’s invitation. The house under whose banner he had been born, House Urey, was the fourth house of Ribbonstone. After graduating from the weapons academy, first in his class and overall master four years in a row, he had been secretly approached by members of the upper houses trying to sway him to make allegiance to their house. Bribes of wealth and high social status would tempt any drow and the ones dangled before him had been very generous.

He accepted Roushina’s invitation to go to the surface. To see the world above their own is an opportunity most drow never have. Even though he accepted this challenge, Dradamus made no commitment to join her house. An open, clear mind was the only way to survive in the chaotic society in which he lived.

Liana wearily rose from her chair. I’ll clean the table tonight, she said.

You’ve had another long day, her mother said. Sit and relax. After your Rite of Passage, I’ll let you do everything for a month.

Liana was about to turn eighteen, the age when elven females go through a ritual of purification before obtaining adult status. She would not be considered an adult until her twenty-fifth year, but the round face of an elven child had become leaner, showing the high cheekbones and thin lips of her heritage.

The Rite of Passage included spending several days and nights alone in the forest. Isolated, she would neither speak to nor see another person during that time. Her recent days had been focused on this ordeal and the training was physically demanding, leaving her ready for bed soon after sunset.

We can finish up here, her father said. Get some rest.

Liana yawned. I am tired, she said.

With the table cleared and Liana back in her sleeping furs, Clay went outside. It was a beautiful, clear, starlit night over the sleepy little elven village of Northwood. He sat in the wide chair on the porch and waited. Within a few minutes, his wife of more than a hundred seasons slipped into the seat and snuggled back against him. You really are proud of her, aren’t you? she said.

Clay took a slow deep breath. Liana fills my heart with joy, my soul with laughter. Holly, I would love any child of ours, but she has a spell on me. I can deny her nothing.

I know, Holly said. What am I going to do with you?

Just love me, he said with a smile.

You ask for what is easiest to give.

Then maybe I’ll ask for something more, he said.

And when have you ever had to ask for that? Holly said with a giggle and she led him from the porch to their sleeping furs.

The drow raiders could have killed the helpless elves in their sleep, but Roushina was not about to let that happen. Her satisfaction would come from the screams of dying elves, and she intended for an elven guard to signal the beginning of the attack. Not voluntarily, but he would be the first to cry out when a dart from her small hand crossbow penetrated his body. The special dart was not coated with the sleep poison commonly used by drow. The tip of this dart was covered with an acid secreted by a rare subterranean fungus, an acid that burns in the body with the fire of molten lava.

The wicked grin faded from Roushina’s face when she aimed the crossbow at the guard’s stomach. And now it begins, she mouthed silently. The acid bolt found its mark and the elf screamed uncontrollably, doubling over from the pain. One young guard immediately ran toward his fallen comrade, but seasoned veterans sounded the alarm. Shouts echoed throughout the huts, arousing sleepy elves to defend themselves. Instantly, the peaceful village was thrown into nightmarish chaos.

Wielding two long swords, Dradamus rushed to battle with his comrades. The drow were outnumbered more than five to one, but they were organized and better trained in the deadly art of killing. The elven defenders rushed out in confusion, only to meet a coordinated circle of dark elves cutting their way toward the center of the village. A surge of adrenalin pumped through his body and Dradamus ran directly into three of the hated surface elves. His left sword deflected the weapon of the first, then bit deep into his chest. His other sword parried both attacks from the other two defenders. This was the purpose of the surface raid, to kill the evil that forced the drow race underground long ago. Those who danced with glee on the roof of his world would pay for their wicked deeds. He spun into the other two elves, his swords a blur of coordinated actions that defied any attempt of defense or escape. His two opponents fell in a matter of seconds from his razor-edged weapons.

A blinding bolt of lightning shot across the compound followed by a loud clap of thunder. The bolt ripped through two members of the raiding party. Their bodies jerked violently, steam shot out from under their protective armor, and weapons flew from dying hands. Two drow quickly closed on the spellcaster. He never had a chance to cast another.

Liana slept soundly, dreaming of the peaceful stream miles from Northwood where she would spend time alone during her Rite of Passage. Suddenly, her dream was shattered by the crack of thunder followed by a living nightmare when screams from the dying penetrated the stillness of the night.

Mother, she cried, struggling to rise from her dream world.

A hand covered her mouth. Quickly, into the cellar, Holly said. Liana was pulled to the small trap door near the wood pile. The cellar stored roots and tubers during winter. The small pit was almost empty now in early summer.

We are under attack, her mother said. Stay here until I open the door. Do not make a sound, no matter what happens.

Liana curled up in the small root cellar as her mother closed the door. She heard pieces of firewood shoved over the trap door to hide its presence. The pit was dark and dry, but the perspiration of fear began to bead all over her body. She quivered as the door to her hut shattered open.

Holly cried out. She clung to her husband when two drow burst through the broken door. Hiding their only child was their first instinct. Clay’s bow and hunting knife hung by the door, his only weapons. His arms held Holly tight around her waist. She looked into his eyes, trying to say I love you when a razor-edged sword cut cleanly through his neck. Clay’s head toppled to the floor. She screamed his name before the drow grabbed her long hair and flung her toward the door. In shock and helpless outrage, Holly failed to notice her left thumb had also been severed by the sword.

Liana’s body convulsed as the shriek from her mother echoed the dying throughout the village. She bit her hand to keep from crying out in anguish. She suddenly realized what was happening.

Roushina moved into the village along with her raiding band. The elf guard struck by the crossbow bolt lay doubled over in the dust, still writhing and screaming as the acid and burning pain slowly spread throughout his body. The evil grin returned to her face. It only hurts till the acid reaches your feeble brain, she spat in the verbal drow language. Thanks for the help.

The gruesome battle lasted no more than a few minutes. Roushina watched Dradamus closely as he made his way to the center of the village. Of the nine victims he cut down, the last two were older and more experienced. They worked together, driving swords simultaneously from multiple angles, but even they were no match for his blades. He worked the two defenders back against one of the huts. They stepped sideways, trying to position themselves on either side. Dradamus parried their swords out wide. Impossibly fast, he spun between them. His weapons flashed out to the side, removing the heads of both defenders in the same instant. Roushina’s eyes widened at the awesome display.

When the battle was over, one drow limped into the center of the village. His upper leg was bleeding from a deep wound. He drank from a flask containing a healing potion. The blood flow immediately stopped, and the wound closed and healed completely within minutes.

Roushina had never lost a member of a surface raid before. The two charred bodies from the lightning bolt would not go back to Ribbonstone but neither would she leave them here. Their smoldering corpses were beyond her ability to restore life. She cast a spell to animate the remains. They would walk as far as the upper caverns leading to the Underdark. Her only real concern was how Mother Lanisha would take the loss. They were good fighters, but, then again, they were only males.

Bodies of the hated silvan elves littered the ground. From earliest childhood, the evil existence of surface elves had been constantly drilled into him. This is what Dradamus had been trained and prepared to do. No remorse came as he surveyed the carnage of dead fighters, but the high-pitched screams from young to middle-aged females suddenly bore into him like bolts from a crossbow. A cold tingle crawled up his spine until he shivered to rid the sensation. When he looked up, Roushina was staring directly at him. She had already given the signal to begin a house-to-house search.

Search the huts, her hands repeated the signal with an emphasis that would make any male leap into action.

Dradamus quickly entered the nearest structure. The hut had already been searched. An older female lay sprawled on the floor near the stove. He ran from the hut, stumbling into the line of females being herded through the village. The fear and anguish in their eyes mixed with wailing cries forced him to flee to the comparative safety of another hut.

Liana quivered in the tiny root cellar. Sounds of battle had ceased, but she could hear the muffled wails of female voices. The fear of emerging and finding both her parents dead along with everyone in the village replaced the fear for her own life. If she survived, she would be alone. Alone in a village of death.

Movement from above brought her back from her thoughts. Someone was in her hut. Firewood scraped across the trap door. She jumped, producing an involuntary whine. Her hiding place had been discovered. She closed her eyes in terror. She was about to be killed.

Moments passed and nothing happened. Liana opened her eyes to see a dark-skinned elf staring at her. The drow motioned for her to remain where she lay. He closed the door and scattered wood once more to hide its presence. Dead silence filled the small dirt cellar and her once happy home.

Liana waited for what seemed like eternity after the last sounds faded in the distance. Her mouth was powdery dry; she could no longer swallow. She had to find something to drink. Slowly she opened the trap door. It was midafternoon the following day when she crawled out of the cramped hole. She stumbled across the floor where her father’s body lay. Her mother was nowhere to be found. She collapsed and uncontrollably cried waterless tears until sunset.

Scavengers and predators alike came to claim the dead throughout the village. She barricaded the broken door as best she could and retreated to the stove by the root cellar. She drank from two water skins and ate scraps left over from the last meal shared with her parents. Grunts and growls from just outside the broken door kept her heart pounding. She crawled back into the root cellar and closed the lid. Sobbing long into the night, exhaustion finally took over, pulling her into a fitful, restless sleep.

The next morning, Liana looked upon the carnage spread throughout the village. She stopped more than once, vomiting till there was nothing left to bring up. The scope of death was beyond her ability to endure. She had to leave. She panicked, then realized there was only one place to go. She must travel far to the south, to the elven city of Glenspring.

Glenspring lay deep in the Gandeeze Forest, next to the first large river flowing west out of the Burley Mountains. She would be safe there if she made it. Food she could find, water she had to carry. The empty water skins could be filled from a stream flowing not far to the south.

She returned to her hut and took both water skins. When she left the hut, she glanced at her father. She gasped. For the first time, she saw her mother’s thumb laying near the body. Barely keeping her stomach under control, she ran from the village of Northwood. The village that was no more.

Time lost meaning as she dashed through the forest. She ran until her legs collapsed beneath her. Scraped and bruised from the sudden fall, Liana crawled to a large tree and pulled herself to a sitting position. Her heart pounded, her legs were numb, she stared through the trees. How long she sat she couldn’t say, but the sun dipped below the western horizon and the forest was rapidly growing dark. Pressing herself as far under a fallen log as possible, she pulled her thin cloak over for what little warmth and protection it provided. Her heart continued to pound through the night as she huddled, wide-eyed, listening to the myriad of forest sounds. She had heard them all before, but every insect that suddenly stopped calling, every footfall of deer in the distance was magnified in her mind. They could be, at least some of them must be drow. Somehow, they knew she had escaped. They were searching for her.

Totally exhausted, both physically and mentally, her eyelids began to close. A leaf crunched not far away. She jumped, her eyes wide once more. Seconds dragged into minutes, minutes into hours. When the sun finally rose and the forest became light, she closed her eyes. It was past noon before she awoke. The young elf maiden ran and walked, walked and ran toward an uncertain future.

Three days and three very long nights later, Liana came to a rapidly flowing stream. The Burly Mountains rose to the east and marched southward beyond the line of sight. This was the first major stream flowing west from the northern end of the Burlys, the head waters of the Solace River. A well-traveled foot trail paralleled both sides of the cold bubbly water. The stream flowed down into the endless sea of trees which made up the vast Gandeeze Forest. Glenspring lay somewhere to the west. The land fit the stories she had eagerly enjoyed hearing her father and others tell around the fireplace. A lump began to swell in her throat, but she ran down the trail to suppress it. After wading across the swift water, she continued running on the south side of the stream and disappeared beneath the dense hardwood trees.

Two days later, Liana burst into tears for the first time since leaving her home. Sitting before Shanek and the elven council of Glenspring, she relived the raid. No one could explain why she had been spared. Some felt it was a drow statement to perpetuate fear, spare one survivor to spread word of the attack and the destruction of Northwood. Shanek, newly-elected head of the elven council, sat silently, wondering if there was more to her survival than just allowing one maiden to live. It didn’t make sense. Sooner or later, word of the massacre would have reached Glenspring and the surrounding elven communities, but Shanek had no other explanation.

Chapter 1

Connate

Connate raced along the narrow path threaded between tall, dense trees, his senses on high alert. The nighttime sky was hidden above a thick leafy canopy of interwoven branches. This part of the Gandeeze Forest was dark during midday, at night, it was pitch-black. Bands of elves sometimes used this trail by day; none traveled this way at night because the trail Connate followed passed within two hundred yards of the feared Dura chen Cave.

The cave entrance was a series of rocky fissures on the side of a gradual slope. Several openings were large enough to allow an elf to squeeze through. And where an elf could enter, the dreaded dark elf drow could issue forth. Years before, nine elves were slain by a drow raiding party that emerged from this cave. The Gandeeze Forest elves stayed clear of this area unless a dozen or more traveled together. He knew he was taking a chance, but he had to get home. His eyes and ears searched for any sign of danger, yet his mind kept going over the message in his pocket.

A tree has fallen, the note read. Liana is badly injured. She may not live till morning.

Connate was a healer. This was the shortest path to get home, the only way to reach his mother’s hut before first light. He moved more silently than an owl on a hunting flight. No human could have seen or heard him pass, but drow are not human.

Connate’s nighttime infravision picked up subtle hues from the temperature variations between tree trunks, the forest floor, and the cool night air. Infravision made night travel comfortable, but he knew his night vision was no match for the drow. Living thousands of years in the perpetual darkness of deep underground caverns, their infravision had developed far beyond that of surface elves. Without question, drow are the masters of darkness.

A flash of heat along the trail brought him to a halt. A warm body, leaning against a tree, glowed in the cool forest. It was an elf, head tipped down, and it had not yet seen him. He studied the individual, then cautiously moved forward. At first, he was relieved, but when the elf looked up, his eyes were burning red in the night.

Randion, Connate whispered.

A scene in the elven judicial hall from last winter flashed through his mind. Florina, a young elf maiden, had been brutally raped by Randion. Connate had attended her injuries and given her comfort. Her injuries left scars that could not be seen, and it was a difficult matter for her to discuss, even in private. Florina had asked him to speak on her behalf before the ruling body. Randion was found guilty and severely punished. He would never regain the status he once enjoyed. His conviction was largely based on Connate’s testimony and Randion had vowed that day to get even.

The two had clashed verbally many times since the trial, but always within Glenspring, never out in the open forest where Connate could be seriously challenged. But now, Randion stood blocking the trail, smiling in the dead of night.

What are you doing here? Connate said with more conviction than he felt. Randion was a good swordsman.

Waiting for you, Randion said in a voice louder than necessary in the stillness of night.

A twig snapped off to his left. Three of the elves that had killed the old cobbler, Lakinden, were fast approaching and with weapons drawn. Connate had been unable to heal the battered cobbler and Lakinden had only enough strength to name his attackers before he died. These elves had everything to gain by taking his life because he was the only living witness against them. He was in trouble. He bolted to his right.

Two more elves appeared between him and the open forest. The one with a sword was the fourth of the cobbler’s murderers, the other held a dagger. Connate pulled his hunting knife, the only weapon he ever carried, and angled to his right putting several trees between himself and his sword wielding opponent. But the dagger carrying elf, Logan, was directly in his path. He knew this opponent was unskilled with weapons, and, wide-eyed, Logan stepped back.

With the others closing fast, he desperately grabbed Logan’s wrist. The thought of killing never crossed his mind. He slammed the heavy hilt of his hunting knife into Logan’s face. Stunned, Logan dropped his weapon. Connate grabbed the falling dagger and turned right, putting Randion and the sword-wielding elf directly behind him.

Shouts from his pursuers echoed through the forest, and he raced toward a dense cluster of small trees. Armed with a dagger and his hunting knife, he hoped the thicket would reduce the effectiveness of the longer weapons, but footsteps rapidly approached from the side. He saw the flash of a sword when he leaped into the copse of trees. The weapon bit deep into a tree inches behind his head. He pivoted around the sapling and came back before the sword could be pulled free. He sliced at the sword arm with a dagger and missed, but with the hilt of his heavier hunting knife he cracked the elf’s jaw. At the same instant, a sharp pain racked his left side. His opponent had a dagger of his own, but it fell when the elf slumped to the ground from Connate’s blow. He pressed a hand against his side. It was wet with blood, but the knife wound was not deep and he was sure he would live. That is, he would live if he managed to escape.

He sheathed his own knife and glanced at the helpless enemy on the ground. He knew the elf was only stunned and would recover in minutes. His first impulse this time was to bend down and kill his attacker, but his training had deeply ingrained the value of life, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He pried the sword from the tree then pressed a hand against the knife wound in his side to reduce the pain. He turned quickly and ran back through the dense grove. A dead branch tore his tunic, punctured and scraped his upper right arm, drawing more blood.

His left hand pressed tightly against his side and his right shoulder and arm throbbed with pain. He was accustomed to holding leather pouches of healing herbs and the heavy sword made his arm ache even more. Members of the elven guard had tried to teach him weaponry, but he had refused. I’m a healer, no threat to anyone, he had said. Nobody would want to hurt me. That was really stupid, he thought now as he emerged from the thicket into the open forest. He could hear two elves shouting, calling the others. Limping from the wound in his side and holding a weapon he had never used in a hand throbbing in pain from the shoulder down, he was no match for even one opponent, let alone several.

Connate took a deep breath, held a hand tightly against his side and broke from cover. He ran as best he could to the far side of the trail. A single elf was calling, trying to get a response from the others. From the sound, he knew the elf was too far away to be seen with infravision. Pressing back against a large tree, his eyes darted from side to side, his heart hammered in his chest. He cursed himself again. It was clear now he had been horribly naive. Even a peaceful healer must be able to defend himself.

The shouting stopped. The forest turned deathly silent around him. He wanted to run deeper into the forest, but his curiosity forced him to peer around the tree. There was no sign of his pursuers. Nothing moved in the stillness of night. Perhaps they thought he had run toward the cave and were moving that direction. Slowly, he worked his way back to the trail, holding the sword awkwardly before him. A night bird gave a tentative call off to his left. He froze. The bird called again, more boldly. The call gave him reason to believe his attackers had left the area. He moved forward.

Near the tree where Randion had waited, he saw a warm mound just off the trail. He approached slowly. It was Randion. His sword arm severed; his throat cut to the bones of his neck. Mother of Gandeeze, he thought. Who could have done this?

He turned, looking for signs of an enemy. Through the trees, he saw another warm mound. It was Urick. His head lay several feet from his body. Logan, the one he had first hit, lay not far away in a pool of still-warm blood, his chest sliced open between two ribs. Mother of Gandeeze, he whispered, scanning the forest around him again. Three of the elves that attacked him were dead. He guessed the others had fallen to the same fate. Someone, skilled with a sword beyond his wildest imagination, was in the area. He hoped whoever had done this was back near the copse of small trees. Wide-eyed, he ran from the scene, fleeing toward home. Somewhere along the way he dropped the sword and dagger.

Chapter 2

Revelation

Glenspring was built in a large clearing of the Gandeeze Forest. The waning moon had just risen above the eastern horizon. Darkness still prevailed across the village of just over two hundred homes when Connate reached his mother’s two-room hut on the western edge of the village. No one was in attendance when he ran to his moth er’s room.

Mother? he called softly. Mother?

Liana sat up in bed. Her long blonde hair and pale blue night gown glowed softly from the faint moonlight through the open window.

Connate? she said. Is that you?

Yes, mother. He knelt beside her bed. Are you alright?

Of course, I am. Why are you here? I thought you went to Gilmore.

I received a message saying you were hurt.

I’m fine, she said. Where in the Gandeeze did you get a message like that?

Connate pulled the crumpled parchment from his pocket.

Liana lit the lamp next to the bed. Her slightly pointed ears, sharp nose, and high cheek bones were clearly illuminated in the warm light. She read in silence.

A tree has fallen. Liana is badly injured. Hurry! She may not live till morning.

It’s not signed, she said. Why would anyone send a message like this?

Joneffer gave it to me, Connate said. And there is more. I was ambushed in the forest. His brow furled and he hesitated. The pieces of what had just happened were forming a dark picture in his mind. I barely managed to escape, and they probably would have killed me if someone hadn’t killed them first.

Liana saw his torn, bloodstained shirt. You’re hurt, she said. He winced when she took his arm. Come, I’ll dress your wound, but you must tell me everything.

She quickly stoked the fire and put a kettle of water on the wood stove. She retrieved two packets of herbs from an earthen jar above the stove and brought them to the table. Her longtime friendship with Calyx, the ancient elven healer, gave her knowledge of herbal healing. She looked at her son, who had studied with Calyx and whose skills were far beyond her own. I’m healing the healer, she said with a slight smile.

Connate slowly removed his shirt, grimacing from pain. Liana saw the knife wound in his side. He saw the concern in her eyes, but she kept silent as she cleaned the wounds and sprinkled a light gray powder from one of the packets. The pain subsided almost immediately and he felt no discomfort as she added another powder to combat infection. Using strips of cloth from an old skirt, she tightly bound his side and right shoulder.

Now, she said, setting two steaming cups of raspberry tea on the table, tell me everything. Start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out.

Connate took a sip of tea and looked at his mother. I was set up to be killed.

From the beginning, Liana repeated as she laid her hand on his.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The sweet smell of the hot raspberry tea helped him relax. With the pain gone, he could feel his legs quivering, his stomach tied in knots. He toyed with the written note. Liana was a gifted teacher and she taught him to read and write because his mentor, Calyx, could not. Calyx was a druidic healer and druid spells are memorized, not written down. He had no reason to read or write. Even though Connate followed the druidic ways, Liana made sure he could.

He looked up. I went to Gilmore this morning to get supplies for you and Calyx. I planned to return tomorrow as usual. Everything was set aside at Gilmore’s Market to be picked up in the morning. The sun was setting when I went to the Wandering Inn for dinner. I had just finished eating and was about to get a room when Joneffer came running in. He gave me this note and said I must hurry. I asked if he was coming, but he said he ran to Gilmore and would only slow me up if he returned tonight. He said he would come back tomorrow.

His brow furrowed. A likely story. He’s supposed to find my body this morning. Connate held his warm cup with both hands. Before taking a sip, he grumbled, He’s going to find more than he bargained for.

What happened next? Liana asked.

I ran back to the market to tell Mr. Gilmore someone would pick up the supplies in a few days. Then started home. I had just passed the cave when . . .

Liana gasped. You came past the cave?

It was late, he said. Mill Creek Trail would have taken me till morning to get home. I couldn’t wait that long. At least, I thought I couldn’t. Connate sighed, still holding his cup in both hands, feeling its warmth radiate into his fingers. Anyway, near the cave Randion stopped me and I was surrounded by Logan, Jonar, Ballinger, Urick and Calderin.

Liana’s brow furrowed. She recognized the names of the elves that had killed