“Starbrow is good enough.”
“No, it’s not.” Ilsevele faced him, her arms folded across her chest. “You know Cormanthor like the back of your hand. You are one of the most skillful warriors I have ever seen. You carry the last Baneblade of Demron-a sword that my father kept safe for centuries. Where are you from? Do you have a family? How did you come to know my father?”
Fflar shook his head. “I told you once before, you’ll need to ask your father about that.”
“I am not asking him. I am asking you,” Ilsevele retorted. “I trust my father implicitly, but I won’t let you hide behind that blind any longer. We’ve shared deadly danger, and we’ve fought and bled together. I want to hear what you have to say for yourself.”
He did not try to meet her eyes. “It’s not my tale to tell.”
Ilsevele waited. Then, saying nothing, she turned and left the broken hall. Fflar sighed, and finished tending to his horse-he’d been done for some time, really. Then he brushed his hands together and stood, looking out at the night. Ilsevele had trusted him with the trouble in her heart, but he hadn’t shared anything in return, had he? She was right to be angry with him. He didn’t think that Ilsevele would be awed by his story, or that she would tell anyone else if he asked her not to. It just seemed simpler, easier, to approach this new life of his without any of the encumbrances of the old one.
“Ah, damn it,” he muttered softly. When it came down to it, refusing to speak openly was almost as bad as lying, and he hated falsehoods. Especially ones devised for his own comfort and convenience. She’d said it well enough, hadn’t she? It was dangerous to want to be someone other than who you were.
He checked on the sentries, making sure that the small campsite was secure. Then he went in search of Ilsevele.
He found her sitting by a still pool in what had once been the garden of the old manor. She did not look up as he approached. Without invitation, he sat down next to her and began to speak. “My name is Fflar Starbrow Melruth,” he said. “I was born in Myth Drannor in the Year of the Turning Leaf, a little less than eight hundred years ago.
“I served in the Akh Velar, the city’s guard. When I was eighty, I married Sorenna Alydyrrin, and a few years later, she bore me a son, whom we named Arafel. I loved them more than all the stars in the sky.”
“You are the Fflar of whom the legends speak?” Ilsevele asked softly.
“I don’t know of any legends. But I was captain of the Akh Velar in Myth Drannor’s final days, and I carried Keryvian in many battles that last summer. I died on a summer afternoon, fighting the nycaloth lord Aulmpiter.
“After that… I walked in Arvandor for a time, though I do not now remember much of the Elvenhome. Your father called me back a few months ago, hoping that I could lead his Crusade to victory over the daemonfey.”
Ilsevele stared at him. “My father raised you from the dead?” She grappled with the thought. “But… why? The Seldarine do not give away that magic lightly. How could my father have even known you would be willing to return?”
“Elkhazel Miritar-your grandfather, I suppose-was a good friend in my first life. I think he must have filled Seiveril’s ears with wild tales about me when your father was a young fellow.” Fflar permitted himself a small smile. “So now I am here.”
Ilsevele studied him closely, her brow knit. “But you’re so young,” she managed. “You’re not much older than I am.”
“I was a little more than one hundred and thirty when I died.”
She shook her head. “Of course,” she murmured. “Of course. But…”
He patted her knee and stood up. “You asked. That’s all I have to say. I can’t make any more sense of it than you can, though I guess that I must have wanted to come back, or your father could not have called me out of Arvandor.”
Ilsevele managed to shake off her amazement long enough to speak. “Starbrow-Fflar-”
“Starbrow is fine, if you’re used to it.”
“Starbrow, then-What became of your family?”
He hesitated, his heart aching. Strange, that such an innocuous question could hurt so much! “I don’t know for certain. Sorenna escaped Myth Drannor with my son before the city fell. I know she lived for a time in Semberholme. But she is gone now, too. I hope that Arafel lived a long and happy life somewhere.” He tried to laugh without bitterness, and almost succeeded. “I may have grandchildren or great-grandchildren around who are older than I am. That would be hard to explain, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know what to say,” Ilsevele managed.
“Nor do I,” Fflar answered truthfully. He could see the questions gathering in her face, but he could feel fresh hurt welling up in his heart. He had no more answers. With an effort he found a small smile for Ilsevele. “I suppose we should rest. We have a hard day’s ride ahead.” Then he retreated, leaving her wrapped in her own thoughts in the moonlit garden.
The secret door in the pillar led to a narrow, black stairway that wound upward for quite a distance through the cool gloom of Nar Kerymhoarth. A faint but unsettling musky smell lingered in the close air of the stairs. The stairs ended in a small landing with blank walls on all sides, but with a few moments of searching, they discovered another secret door. This one opened out into a low-ceilinged hall of more pillars-blocky and square this time-with several large, still pools of water rimmed by foot-high lips of smooth masonry. Water dripped somewhere in the dark distance, echoing in the stone hall.
“Which way, Jorin?” Araevin asked.
The Aglarondan knelt, resting his fingertips on the paving blocks of the floor. “Straight ahead.”
They came to the end of the square pillars and pools, and found a great doorway carved in the image of a serpent’s head. Long stone fangs framed the archway, and the whole thing had been crudely painted in peeling green and yellow. Araevin studied the doorway for a moment, and decided that no magical traps lingered in the area. But he could feel danger nearby.
“Carefully, now,” Araevin whispered to the others.
Maresa and Jorin led the way, ducking under the jutting fangs of the great serpent head. The passage beyond was fashioned to resemble a snake’s gullet, with curved stone ribbing at even intervals and a floor of glossy tile. They followed the eerie passageway for a short time and emerged onto a balcony above another large hall.
Scores of ophidians slowly writhed and coiled together on the cold stone floor below, tangled in a scaly heap before a great serpentine idol at the far side of the room.
Stifling a gasp of surprise, Araevin quickly backpedaled down the passage they’d just emerged from. His friends retreated as well. Only when he judged that they were out of easy earshot did Araevin allow himself to breathe a sigh of relief.
“I quit,” muttered Maresa. “I am not going in there.”
“Do you think they spotted us?” Jorin whispered.
“I don’t think so,” Araevin said. “I think they would have let us know if they’d seen us.”
“Did you see the idol?” Nesterin asked Araevin. “Was that crystal the one you seek?”
Araevin shook his head. “I saw the idol, but I didn’t notice any crystal. Better show me.”
Leaving the others at a safe distance up the passageway, Araevin and Nesterin crept softly back to the edge of the balcony. The mage studied the great serpent statue at the far end of the room closely. At first he didn’t see anything, but he clearly sensed the presence of strong magic. Beside him, Nesterin tapped his arm and pointed toward a small offering dish that sat in the middle of the great stone serpent’s coils.
A milky white crystal the size of a man’s hand lay atop a heap of old coins in the dish. Araevin looked to Nesterin and nodded. Then, before they withdrew, he quickly looked around the rest of the room. The balcony ran along only the back wall of the shrine. To his left and right, stairs descended to the mosaic floor below, where the ophidians gathered around their sinister idol. There was a great dark pool in the center of the room, similar to the ones in the hall of the square pillars but much larger-and evidently inhabited. He caught the subtle stirring of something large moving in the water. He nodded to the star elf, and the two retreated back down the passage again.