"Sounds bad."
"You can't imagine. But the Cerulean Sign was forged to oppose creatures that oozed down from mad realms to colonize Abeir-Toril. To a large extent, those long-vanished defenders of the virgin world succeeded. Abominations, both godlike and inconsequential, were pushed back. Abeir was forgotten. Mortal races eventually inherited the earth."
"Like you and me?"
"Right," agreed Kiril. Her voice regained a little of its strength as she spoke.
"Who were these defenders?" wondered the thief.
"Unknown. Too much time since then. They were damn tough, though. Gods, probably, or whatever passed for gods before people were around to call them divine."
Gage let out his breath, shaking his head ever so slightly, as if in disbelief. Kiril's eyes narrowed.
"You want to hear this or not?" She tensed as if to stand.
"No, please—I apologize," said the thief, leaning forward, suddenly conciliatory. "I didn't realize your story was going to have such . . . cosmic . . . size to it."
Kiril said, "I need to say this. Believe it or don't."
"I do believe it, and I want you to go on—I saved your sword, didn't I? I have a big interest in this."
The elf nodded. She leaned back in her seat and continued. "So, these vanished defenders and their Sign, while mostly effective, weren't completely successful. Monstrosities slipped into the world, some openly, others less so. Most are hidden away, yet remain terrors to those who find them in the dark below the surface. You've heard of aboleths?"
"Aboleths are the abominations?"
"Yes—well, related to the originals. Far worse tried to openly colonize reality. They failed, yet they retain a foothold even after all these eons. There's always a chance they'll rise as one from their ancient strongholds. But that prospect is not unopposed. Once, I guarded against the possibility."
"You did?"
"Blood, yes! Don't sound so surprised. I told you I was not always as I seem now. Once I had a civil tongue." Kiril laughed.
"I was a Keeper of the Cerulean Sign—one of a small group of guardians loyal to the ancient knowledge. We nurtured comprehension of the Sign, so that primeval aberrations are opposed whenever they stir."
"And do they? Stir, I mean?"
"They do. Mostly by proxy—they send nightmares that insinuate dreams, hollow hearts, and madden minds. Sometimes, their influence finds particularly susceptible, but powerful mortals. If the seduction goes to completion, a priest of the old ones is born, a priest whose single self-proclaimed duty is to call the oldest abominations forth into the light of day. A priest pledged to call forth apocalypse. A twisted bastard who wants nothing more than to stand laughing amidst the ashes of reality."
"Akadi's tricky fingers!" exclaimed Gage.
Kiril nodded, agreeing with the man's sentiment. She cleared her throat. "In a hidden realm where elves dwell, within the Yuirwood, a man succumbed to this very seduction. He was branded the Traitor, and he was locked away in a dungeon forever. The name of that dungeon is Stardeep—"
Kiril paused, noting Gage's sharp intake of breath. "What is it?"
"I'll tell you when you've finished. Don't interrupt your story—the name sounded familiar, is all."
"All right... so anyhow, up until ten years ago, I was a warden there—in Stardeep. So was Nangulis. We served together for five years in that role, but knew each other even before that."
Gage cupped his chin in his hands, resting his elbows on the table. He asked, "What happened—did the Traitor get out? Is that why you're ... so sad and disillusioned?"
"Yes, he escaped. When he got out, he assumed a mantle of abominable power, becoming seemingly invincible. Things seemed bleak but Cynosure told us of one last fail-safe . . ."
"Cynosure?"
She frowned at the interruption and said, "Cynosure is a sentient idol whose mind lives throughout Stardeep. The idol commands embedded sorceries throughout the dungeon. For instance, he can teleport willing Keepers from place to place."
"Really? That's incredible ... uh, sorry, never mind. You found a fail-safe, you said?"
"Nangulis and I, along with the mind of the fortress, called upon ancient Cerulean lore to fashion a weapon potent against all evil, a weapon whose righteousness would be especially effective against aberrations, as well as the Traitor who wielded their abilities."
Kiril ran her hand down Angul's sheath. "But the creation of such an effective weapon was not possible without sacrifice. To create the weapon, we required the willing contribution of a living, purified soul. All the goodly, just, righteous aspects of a soul, which would be transformed and manifested as a physical object. Over this, Nangulis and I fought, but time was short, our plight desperate. I know not how he convinced me; it would happen differently now if I had it to do over. But in the end, the Blade Cerulean was forged, and Nangulis, what remained of him, emerged from the process as unyielding steel."
"Incredible."
"And so I took up this new weapon, untested, its essence vibrating with he who I couldn't yet believe was gone. I took up Nangulis, renamed Angul, and with him, battled the Traitor to a standstill, though his vile tricks nearly killed me. We beat him, battered him, schooled him in the ways of Righteousness . . . and returned the dung-eating bastard to the nadir of the Well, Stardeep's most secure prison."
"If you overcame the Traitor, why didn't you just kill him? Seems like a lot of trouble to keep him alive."
"If it were only that simple, Stardeep wouldn't have been built in the first place."
"Oh? Some sort of elf law against killing your own?"
Kiril snorted and shook her head. She said, "His death would be a clarion call to the very creatures we do not wish disturbed. Left to his own devices, he would have induced them to rise. Killed, his flaring, dissipating essence would signal the first day of a renewed colonization. The Traitor is more abomination than man; he's their highest high priest. So we keep him safe."
"He doesn't try to starve himself to death down there?"
"When he signed his soul over to the Abolethic Sovereignty, his mortal needs were erased. He cannot die merely through neglect."
Gage blinked. "I need a drink." He stood, walked to the door, and yelled into the hubbub of the common room, "Two ales!"
A drink sounded like a first-class idea to Kiril, too. She remained silent until the flagons were delivered, and Gage refrained from plying her with more questions until they'd both had a chance to sample the brew. Not especially good. She took another swallow. She needed it if she was going to tell Gage the whole story to its awful conclusion.
Gage said, "You must really miss him. Nangulis, as he was, I mean." He waved at the sword on the table.
"You still don't know it all," Kiril declared, then she fell silent again.
Gage waited her out.
Finally, the elf continued. "You've held Angul. So you know the overwhelming nature of his personality. When you wield the Blade Cerulean, remaining in possession of your own thoughts is difficult. Everything seems decided already, and Angul believes himself the final arbiter. Frankly, I can't believe you resisted running through everyone in that bar. Angul would see them all as dissolute wastrels crying out for his special loving attention."