Far underneath the quiet streets of Urmlaspyr's Temple District, in a dark and cool stone corridor that Vhalan felt certain was older than the city itself, a slender, black haired young man named Shinosato leaned slightly forward in front of what appeared to be a solid stone circle. He took a deep breath, puckered his thin, pallid lips, and blew upon the center of the circle. The grooves in the circle's worn carvings, naturally sandy tan, first darkened rapidly until they seemed to be stained the deep rusty red of old exposed blood, then cracked and pulled away from each other so that the circle opened in four parts. Vhalan observed the movement and listened to the heavy scrape of stone on stone with interest.
"I don't know why it is," the young man explained with an embarrassed smile, "but the whole place seems to... I'm not sure how to put it... know us. Any seal like that- any one of us can just blow on it, and it'll pop right open, just as you see this one did. I hear that for mortals, it takes a bit more doing. If Tess is here, you could ask her. She was mortal not too long ago, but... well, I'll let her tell you."
"If she sees fit to take me into that confidence," Vhalan replied, "then I will count myself fortunate to hear the tale."
The two stepped past the portal, which gradually hissed and scraped its way shut behind them. Vhalan paused to observe the color of the grooves, and sure enough, they had begun fading back down to the natural tan of the stone.
"You're sure you don't hail from some other court?" Shinosato asked when Vhalan began to follow him again. "I didn't have any court training when I got here- I'm a squire now, barely- but you could have been turned here, the way you carry yourself."
"Perhaps you're hearing another lifetime," Vhalan said with a faint smile. "My mortal parents had every desire to place me well, but we were not of good enough means to have contact with anyone's court. They pushed me into the army first, then into a temple."
"I couldn't imagine you in any temple," Shinosato said off-handedly, pausing and peering at the splitting of tunnels before him.
Vhalan only hummed quietly in response, amused at the young man's momentary loss of orientation. While he waited for his guide to collect himself, he noted that there was some sort of language that he couldn't read etched right at his eye level. The markings looked suspiciously like claw marks, but were too close and purposeful to be the work of an animal. Either this note is original to the people who dug these tunnels, or some one of their ancient conquerors got weary of wandering around lost down here, he reasoned. Either way, this boy makes no use of the directions in front of his very face.
Ahead of him, Shinosato made sense of which way to turn, and began moving away from Vhalan without warning. The older vampire was, however, also taller, and didn't have to work hard to catch up.
"You seem a bit too... ehm... down-to-earth, I suppose," the young man continued with an apologetic chuckle, clearly trying to neaten up his previous statement. "All the priests I've ever met are puffed up spoil-sports."
"You frequented boring temples," Vhalan smiled more genuinely. "Find the coven of Lliira worshipers here, or pay a visit to a temple to Sune in Daerlun, when the opportunity presents itself. Priests are of many shapes and sizes, and as for personalities- they're interesting, even if not always pleasant."
"Does the Raven Queen's cult have priests?" Shinosato asked.
Vhalan gave a short cough to mask the laugh that threatened to escape. "Cults actively destroy the individuality of their members, so that they might better serve their leaders' whims. I doubt Shepherd Aric, the monastic elder of our coven, would appreciate his flock of mortals being mistaken for a cult."
"I didn't mean to offend," Shinosato said quickly, pausing to look sheepishly over his shoulder for a moment. Vhalan wordlessly waved his hand and shook his head, and the young man turned to continue moving forward through the suddenly much wider tunnel before them. "I hadn't heard of the Raven Queen at all until just recently, so I tried to do some reading... apparently not enough, though. Lord Lucien's got plenty of material on Nerull, but not much on her, and... Anyway, are you the reading sort? You might ask Lord Lucien to have a peek at his collection, if that might interest you. It's astounding; takes up a whole room to itself. He says the Stonerows down in the Bone College are bigger, but I can't imagine that. When I first turned, I hid in there for- I guess it might have been a day or two. Long enough that others went looking for me- calling down the halls and whatnot. Someone found me in the library and shoved me out, saying that Lord Lucien wouldn't be keen on having a feral who could read."
"A thoughtful friend, that was," Vhalan noted, again amused. "I hope you thanked them, when you regained your sense."
The young man's cheeks grew as pink as they could- which only served to make him look younger and more pitiful than before. "It might have been Dverek; I've seen him with other fresh turns. He's extra kind- says it's 'cause he was different before he was a vampire. You know, on account of his being an Orc? I... I can't really remember, and it'd pain me to ask, so... I just... prefer to think it was Dverek."
Vhalan nodded, but couldn't find anything to say. His own turning had been similar, in that he could remember none of it. It had seemed to him that at one point, he was standing victorious over the vampire lord, and the next, he was staring, astonished, at his bloodied best friend. There had been no conscious space between the two moments.
Shinosato and Vhalan walked together in heavy silence for a few minutes. Vhalan began to smell the occupation of the space when the two passed through a portal that was slower to open than the others.
"This is the first portal that really belongs to us. To Lord Lucien, I mean- the start of his territory. He says this one 'remembers', whatever that means," Shinosato explained.
Vhalan wondered whether Lucien believed that the stone remembered when it first opened for someone other than the original carver, when the first vampire arrived to take up residence, or remembered when it served another purpose entirely. He looked for any scrawling on the inside of the portal as it closed, but found none. Instead, there were dark crystals, embedded into the walls at regular intervals, that seemed to shed a low, purple light when those passing by them came near enough to need it. Vhalan sensed an old magic about them, and wondered who was responsible for enchanting and placing them. The catacombs, dug just as deeply, and in a very similarly rounded style, also had depressions in the walls, but there had only ever been very natural candles that had to be ordered, purchased, and delivered to the catacombs on a regular basis. The ones that Aric enchanted to create a ward against a feral Vhalan burned faster than the rest, but if he'd had other options, magical or mundane, he never made use of them.
"If he's not in the library, he's after doing a bit of alchemy," the young man said with a touch of amusement as he turned left down a hall that made Vhalan feel as though the two were simply going around in a large, awkward circle. "He's been gathering reagents and formulas as though he intended to open a potion shop next season; was completely ignorant of the craft until just now, but Tess says he's getting good really fast. I can't imagine being hundreds of years old and still learning new things."
"I hope it's a goal to which you aspire," Vhalan replied genuinely, spying more writing on the wall right next to another circular portal. The placement interested him, and he wondered if Lucien would allow him to take a rubbing to present to Aric for study.
"I suppose it had better be, now," Shinosato mused. He breathed on the portal as he had done with the others, and the opening process took place at a rate closer to normal. Beyond the portal yawned a cavern with a ceiling much higher than the tunnel that led to it. Like the rest of the pathway, there were no burning torches or candles, but instead dark crystals embedded into the walls. All of them, previously dark, began radiating their soft purple light as soon as Shinosato and Vhalan entered. Vhalan noticed that the wide, deep slots carved into the stone were being used as shelving. Just inside the cavern, they held what seemed like centuries' worth of written works- all to do with various levels of alchemy, and most in languages other than Common. Farther on in the room, there were neatly placed, dust-free chests of various sizes, and far at the other side was a man, seated behind a well-organized stone table. The fruity sweetness of the beginnings of a health potion toyed with Vhalan's nose.
"My Lord Lucien," Shinosato called, "your humble servant brings you the visitor for which you sent."
Lucien was not impressive at first look. He had been turned, it seemed to Vhalan, when he was somewhere in the early autumn of his mortal life. His hands and forearms were sprinkled with freckles, and were just barely creased with time. His temples had perfect patches of grey that would now neither fade nor spread through the rest of his neatly tied chestnut brown hair, the corners of his cautious red streaked hazel eyes sported the beginnings of crow's feet, and his slightly stooped posture indeed seemed fitting for a comfortably landed older lord.
After a few moments of silence, Lucien finished decanting his potion into a small metal bowl, set the shallow metal vessel that held the remaining sediment onto a clay plate, put out the small fire with which he'd been working, and sat straight up.
At once, the razor sharpness of his focused gaze seemed to pierce Vhalan through like an arrow, reminding the younger vampire lord of none other than Aric himself. His face had the sharp, wolfish features that Vhalan was accustomed to seeing in his own reflection, but had a few nicks and scars that must have healed while he was still mortal. The only one that stood out was a long, thick slice that ran just under the left side of his hairless jaw. His shoulders were broad, his upper body impressively muscular, and his seated presence as weighty as the standing attention of a mortal army's worthy commander.
This is a fighter, Vhalan thought briefly.
"Who is it you've brought me, squire?" Lord Lucien asked with a gentle, affable tenor.
"Vhalan, my lord," the dark haired young vampire replied without delay. "You sent me for him two nights ago, but I couldn't find him anywhere. Tirabet went tonight, and brought him back without delay- she wouldn't tell me where she found him, though."
"Don't complain or try to wheedle it out of her; she met him first, and clearly feels protective of him. Her reticence to betray their meeting location merely shows that she's gaining the instinct to both respect and mark territory," Lucien replied. He scooted his chair back and stood at ease, revealing that he and Vhalan were about the same height; both of them were taller than the squire by nearly a half a foot, making the slender young man between them seem more like a boy. "And remember your manners, squire; we are in the presence of Elder Vhalan, the chain master of the Raven Queen Coven. You will refer to him with the title that befits his rank."
"Of course, my lord, and my apologies, Elder Vhalan," Shinosato breathed, woefully embarrassed. Again, his whole face, and that of his neck that was visible above his cotton tunic's collar, turned a delicate rose.
He must have been capable of a full-body blush, when he had the blood to do it with, Vhalan thought, trying to repress an amused smirk.
"I didn't introduce myself with my title, ser," he noted, when he had recovered himself. "I don't know that apologies are in order."
"Nonsense," Lucien grunted. "This is the first time we have had the pleasure of entertaining you in person, but we all know exactly who you are. Stand close, squire, and I'll call for you shortly."
"Very good, my lord," Shinosato answered smartly, having recovered just enough for his voice not to warble.
Vhalan watched the slender young man leave, then turned back to Lucien, who had not retaken his seat.
"It only seems unnecessary because you yourself have no spawn to manage. Fresh turns are like unmannered youths, irrespective of the age their mortal frames claimed prior to their conversion," Lucien explained. "They must be reminded, nearly constantly, of their place. Otherwise, one finds that they have cultivated headstrong, selfish, thuggish brats who know not how to properly care for each other, much less the mortals they must tend."
Vhalan immediately wondered if he had appeared to the ancient vampire as a selfish and thuggish brat until very recently. "It's difficult to instruct others on their places, ser, when one does not know one's own," he said after a beat of silence.
" 'When one does not know'," Lucien repeated distantly, as though in a dream. Stepping out from behind the heavy stone desk upon which his alchemy tools were resting, he strode confidently over to Vhalan and began walking all the way around him. Vhalan couldn't be sure if he were being admired, criticized, or sized up as a challenger, and found himself sincerely hoping that it was not that last option.
"Ah, Xavier," Lucien breathed heavily after having walked around Vhalan three times in one direction and twice in the other. "The look of him is about you, in your musculature, the way your neck and jaw adapted to fit your teeth- hmmm. And, from Tirabet's happy testimony, you throw yourself into your transformation the same way he used to. One mad leap, and the wolf's form encases you before you hit the ground again. A bright white wolf, she says. Yes; I can see why. Much paler than is healthy- nearly mortally late to feed, obviously. One never loses the pallor that results from not feeding soon enough after the turn. You are the only survivor of Xavier's vampiric lineage; his other attempts were... let us say... less successful. Intemperate. Violent, wasteful. Not prone to or desirous of introspection; indeed, some were even incapable of coherent thought."
"All too familiar," Vhalan replied. "Shepherd Aric made use of every method, legal or not, to break such ways. His familiarity with restraints, both magical and mundane, and undocumented arcane spell casting was... useful."
"It is impossible to shape a spirit, mortal or no, that is not already of the idea that it must be transformed," Lucien said firmly as he walked back to his desk. He stood behind it and motioned to a chair that was pushed to the wall, but Vhalan remained standing. "Further, much like stone, clay, glass, or metal, that spirit will not be safely and successfully changed unless it can bear the process necessary. You had both the knowledge that you had to change as well as the temperance to withstand said changing. That is why you are the only one of Xavier's spawn to have survived."
"If that is your view, ser, your leaving my survival to chance could be considered wicked negligence," Vhalan stated flatly. "My barely successful turning cost Shepherd Aric, and many others, a great deal of effort and patience over time. Perhaps the other... descendants... of my sire were very sorely missing such guidance and selfless sacrifice. If nothing else, they deserved a knowledgeable person to stand between them and their utter destruction."
"Please," Lucien encouraged, and motioned to the chair again.
There was a moment's silence, during which Vhalan forced himself into at least the appearance of civility, and walked over to bring the chair to the other side of the desk.
Lucien smiled faintly, as though he understood the difficulty, and sat when Vhalan did. "I of course have no lack of respect for all that Shepherd Aric, and the other mortals in his care, have done for you," he began carefully, "and I will confess my sins against you shortly. But first, you must see and understand yourself as no mortal can, or ever will."
Vhalan turned his head very slightly, as though the force of Lucien's words had pushed at his chin, but took a deep breath and righted it.
"Good; thank you. Vampirism is to mortals what a fire is to gold. I, as one might reasonably expect out of an acolyte to Afflux, am an intellectual snob. I hoard sorely needed information under the guise of protecting it, then enjoy feeling myself superior to those from whom the information is kept. This purposeful withholding of knowledge made me just culpable for your miserable turning process as those who left you to die upon their very doorstep some years ago. Tirabet was... greatly displeased by that detail- the doorstep? Furious. And, she was even more upset by my own lack of action. Rather roundly upbraided me for it."
"I should hope she never loses that straightforwardness," Vhalan said quietly, thinking over what Lucien had said about himself. "Those... few years you've mentioned... it was seventy-four years."
"To number those years is to remind myself that I have changed very little in their process," Lucien replied simply. "I sent Tirabet to you to play-act my apology- and she told me that, too, to the astonishment of everyone in the court, myself included. It is she who demanded that you be brought here, and spoken to properly. I stood admonished before all by a child, because of my pettiness. As I have said, vampirism will bring this and any impure trait right to the surface, and it is up to us to repent, and mend our ways."
"I wish you well in the enterprise," Vhalan replied thoughtfully. "I... hadn't come to that understanding, but... I must say, that would explain... a fair bit of my experience."
"You reek of bitterness and suspicion- they drip from your every word," Lucien said with a trace of mourning in his tone. "My confession is long, ser; will you hear it?"
Vhalan blinked, surprised, but gave a single, silent nod.
Lucien closed his eyes and sighed deeply.
"When I call Xavier my brother, it is no empty saying. We were raised together. Educated together. Were enlisted, trained, and sent to the borders together. We were inseparable, and I, the younger, was incapable of seeing any fault in him. We were not the only two to fall prey to the few elder vampires who had survived the Merrydale times, but we were the only two who managed to escape the eager Zhentarim looking to prove themselves. We hadn't expected the gaining of vampirism's physical aspects to be a process, but when I realized that it was, I put myself in charge of gathering intelligence concerning it. I foolishly believed that our bond would save us, but didn't realize that vampirism had emotionally and mentally changed us both too horribly, and too quickly. In no time, we fought verbally, used the spawn with which we'd experimented for physical fights by proxy, then- after decades of wasted lives- came to a formal truce, which meant that we sent each other gifts and polite letters while covertly riddling each other's courts with espionage and sponsored insurrection. I, in my disillusion and wounded pride, withheld any useful knowledge that I gleaned from the mortal world from him, waiting for him to repent and ask me to return to his side. Instead, he guarded his distance and cultivated only relationships between he the dominant and all his petty subjects- just barely spared anyone the trust necessary for that. Had we not been that way, had we only understood that our proclivities were strengthening, deepening, warping..."
"I am sorry for your loss," Vhalan found himself saying, before he realized that he meant it.
Lucien opened his eyes, and the two vampires looked at each other in sad silence for a few moments. The elder vampire sat forward, so that he could put his elbows on the stone table, and continued while looking at his audience, with his chin resting on his laced fingers.
"I am fortunate in that my first few turns were former warriors, all as intelligent as they were strong. They pointed out my faults respectfully, but constantly. After one of them deserted me in favor of having a priest end his life, I realized that the problem was me, not them. Xavier had many more turns than I, but few of them, if any, were as good to him. Little pawns and pets, weak-willed peons of every stripe- they soon curdled in profoundly wicked ways that were harmless fantasies and fetishes when they were mortals, eventually drew the attention of the gods, and doomed themselves. Via my agents and allies, I watched as they were mercilessly slaughtered. When one of my emissaries returned to tell me of Xavier's own demise, I was surprised only in that Saint Cuthbert gave his commandment of destruction first."
"He didn't," Vhalan interrupted. Realizing that he had crossed his arms, he shook them free and rested them on the cool arms of the chair. "Some people caught up to the brothers of Saint Cuthbert, but some were found already on their way. Lliira sent three healers, because some of her revelers were being caged up and used for blood chattel. Afflux, as enamored as he usually is of all sorts of torture, set his face against the turning and killing of children, and sent the former warlock who is now known as Aric in response."
"Ah, that reminds me again of Tirabet," Lucien frowned, leaning up off his hands and putting his arms down on the table with his hands still folded. "She did tell you how she was turned?"
"No," Vhalan replied. "If she remembers any of it, she does better than I."
"No one remembers the precise moment, that I know of," Lucien counseled as he opened his hands and sat back in his chair. "If your imagination pains you, know that your turning was calm- so calm that at first, I believed the report that you had perished in your victory. Something about the workings of Aric and his god prevented me from sensing your first feed."
"My first feed was Aric himself," Vhalan admitted quietly.
"Did he tell you that, or do you remember the taste of his blood?" Lucien asked suddenly.
Vhalan felt himself bristle, but realized a moment later that the question had been genuine. "I... remember. And even if I didn't then, in the years afterward, he made sure I did."
"He didn't permit you to feed often enough to prevent feral episodes," Lucien reasoned, sitting back more comfortably in his chair. "But he likely didn't know that they would happen until they did."
"You speak as though those episodes could have been somehow avoided. I've read that they are supposed to alert vampires in the immediate area to the presence of an unstable interloper," Vhalan pointed out.
"That is my belief, yes, and yours definitely served that purpose," Lucien replied. "They were proof positive that you had survived, and were very slowly turning, but I ignored them, trying vainly to push Xavier's memory out of my mind. They became stronger because you did; at the very last, they woke my entire court, striking us all with thirst so maddening, some of the younger ones nearly tried feeding on each other. Many of the older companions in the court privately begged me to claim you, worried that our fresh turns wouldn't be able to endure your wildness calling to theirs for much longer. But I remained silent. I had believed it was far too late- that you would go fully feral and stay that way. And then, you changed. You gained control of your nature, earned your lordship. Or rather, you grew into it- became the single true heir to what Xavier should have been."
Vhalan held his tongue. Lucien set his jaw, as though he were prepared to receive a punch or feel the jab of a blade.
"The lairs of Xavier's spawn were filthy. Blood spatters everywhere, bones and rotting bodies littering the floor. The remains of needlessly killed animals strewn about, as though they had been dragged from room to room. Messy totems to horrible, cruel gods. The living spaces of spawn closer to proper adjustment were cleaner and better organized, but still sported slave pens and questionably outfitted areas of leisure. And all of them were utterly dark, as though light, mundane or magic, were some kind of curse. I personally walked through those lairs, meticulously inspected them- submitted my studies to a former colleague, and had the resulting books published. But your living space... Xavier, when once he was himself, was an excellent writer. He did no visual art that I have ever seen, but the passion of his written word was stunning. So when that same emissary- for I found I could trust no other with any part of my shame- brought me back the report that you had turned the living space of the caretaker of the dead into something of a personal art museum- unrealized guilt paralyzed me. I left you to suffer, stranded in the strained care of mortals, for seventy one more years, only occasionally sending that very same emissary to look over your progress, and even now, would have been content to admire your resilience from afar-"
"The Raven Queen, as you know, is responsible for the weaving and unraveling of our fates, singly and collectively," Vhalan interrupted. "No matter how long the matter has been delayed, and no matter why, the Raven Queen has bound us together; therefore, we must walk worthy of her choice. Let us accomplish something commendable."
Lucien looked at Vhalan without speaking for a few moments, then motioned over to the left side of his desk, where a loosely-bound journal that Vhalan had assumed was his alchemy notes lay.
"That is a collection of Xavier's last sane passages," he managed. "It is a chronicle of dreams, interspersed with some poetry and a few short stories, all to do with the changing of the spirit during the onset of vampirism, and might be needful to such tender turns as might have had a creative nature, when once they were mortals. I believe that it is the counterpart to the more clinical works that I have already commissioned, but I don't wish to turn it into the hands of some scholar or fighter, who might rob it of the creativity that was as natural to Xavier as breath itself. A fellow artist might do it better justice, wouldn't you agree?"
Vhalan looked up from the book to Lucien, who had crossed his thick arms over his barrel chest.
"Are you very certain you want your brother's murderer to touch this book?" he asked quietly, knowing the words themselves would be as painful as a sword to the man's belly.
"I don't consider Xavier's death a murder," Lucien breathed as he closed his eyes again. "Think on what his lair looked like, when you arrived, weapon in hand. When you looked around you- the walls, the floors, the furnishings- or the splinters of them- or if you even looked behind yourself at the pitiable minions you destroyed to get to him- did you not think to yourself, 'This is a monster'?"
And years fell away from Vhalan's mind as easily as if the fight had been only the day before. There certainly had been overturned and broken furniture, shattered glassware, pages of music and other writing savagely torn and thrown around the room. At the time, Vhalan hadn't attributed all of the destruction to the vampire alone, but to the ferocity of the fight that it had taken to wound and corner him. However, even in the vampire's inner sanctum, where no one but Vhalan had entered, there were still paintings that looked as though the vampire had shredded them with his hands, bloody rags and overturned bottles everywhere, thickly painted nonsense writing on the wall, and a general smell of flesh-related grime and rot.
The vampire himself, who had asked Vhalan's name without introducing himself afterward, had been well dressed and spoken, almost polite. The two spoke of death first, then love making, then love itself, until the vampire at last reminded Vhalan that there could be no peaceful ending to his story.
"I was trying to forget about that," Vhalan had said half-jokingly, not out of cowardice, but because somehow, he felt as though he were speaking to a fully sane and unfairly condemned man.
"No, pup, you mustn't forget," the vampire had replied cordially, retrieving his discarded sword from a table that had been broken in half before Vhalan arrived. "We're both counting on you to win, you see. Let's to it, shall we?"
And from that moment onward, Vhalan didn't have time to think at all, as the already wounded vampire treated him to the fight of his life. It had felt right, in the end, to die with such a worthy enemy, and horribly bitter to reawaken, stricken with that enemy's same curse, while in the process of killing his only remaining friend.
Knocked back to the situation before him, Vhalan reached his right hand out and flipped the cover of the manuscript open, and looked at it, purposefully trying to recall the impeccable image of the witty, affable vampire lord.
Oh splendid gleaming of the queenly moons
As on thy hair they send their gold beams down;
The stars dance on thy skin like mystic runes,
The sea thy train, the inky night thy shroud.
Come close and let thy scent delight my heart
That has of late no simple joy maintained,
Press balm upon the wound that does us part
Come close; thou shall be neither harmed nor stained.
Oh, if thy touch were blessed of the gods
It could not be to me more heaven-sent;
And healing would it be, against all odds,
Mayhap the sun lord might my state repent.
Have mercy for me, if no love remains,
Stretch forth thy hand and pat thy gentle cur;
Be thou remembered of last autumn's rains
When I did hold thee fast and thou didst purr.
Oh, touch my drought wracked lips, my starving arms!
Lavish on me thy gentle looks and charms!
No! And afeared, thou fliest my reach. No chapel bell
Shall sing this death, this loss, this damnation to hell.
"He pushes against the meter as though it were a collar that he might soon break," Vhalan said after reading the composition three times. He looked up, and found that Lucien's eyes were still closed.
"Yes," the older vampire replied quietly. "That was Xavier. Always testing, tempting, making things 'interesting'. Every awful idea we ever got ourselves into began with, 'Oi, Luce, let's us try this, no?' And of course, I never said no."
There was silence for a few moments. When Lucien opened his eyes again, his gaze met Vhalan's, and the latter noted how much energy had gone out of his look.
"Copies of the works I commissioned are in the Stonerows as well as in the court mage's personal library, and I would like copies of this journal to join them there. Now, as for payment-"
"I won't be paid," Vhalan interrupted instantly. "I will complete this work as... an ally of your court."
"That is no small saying," Lucien hummed. "I know you are a spiritual man, as much as one of us can be, and thus have little design on fashioning a court of your own, but... I will, at long last, train you properly, so that if you find yourself in someone else's territory, you will run less risk of being seen as a pretender to the lord or lady's throne- unless that is what you wish."
Vhalan reached his right hand over the stone table, and with a weary smirk, Lucien took it into a firm handshake. When the two let each other go, they arose together.
"I'm told you have quite the library," Vhalan commented.
"Large enough for a certain bookish fledgeling to hide in it for two days and a night, yes," Lucien chuckled. "Come; he still enjoys losing himself there, and there are other sources that could be of great use to you."
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