Session 26

The circular tunnel looked to have been dug from the rocks and dirt by claws and teeth. It descended about sixty paces before opening into a larger tunnel finished with dressed stone and supported by columns.

The Juices waited at the bottom of the rough-cut tunnel while Ebyn cast the ritual that would link them all telepathically. With that done, Xalen scouted forward. He passed by a storage room filled with broken weapons and collapsed furniture. Dust filled the corridor, looking very much like a layer of fine grey snow.

Xalen continued down the passage to a closed chamber with a ten-foot-tall stone statue of a smiling figure carrying a large sack.

“Is this for real?” he shared with the others as he eyed the sculpture. “There’s a statue down here that looks very much like Nikola Kringle.”

“Should we go back and confront him?” Brabara said

“Hold on,” Xalen replied. “Maybe I’m just seeing things. Let me get a better look at it.”

Xalen drew nearer to the statue when a voice sounded from the figure’s mouth:

“I beam, shine, and sparkle white, I brighten the day with a single light, I charm and enchant one and all, I can counter even the darkest pall. What am I?”

Xalen repeated the words over the telepathic link and suggested the group make their way to him.

“It really does look like him,” Brabara said as she neared the statue. “How can that be?”

Xalen shrugged. “The magic of midwinter, I guess.”

“I think I figured it out,” Ebyn said. "It’s the moon."

Seknafret nodded. “It could be, that would certainly fit most of the clues.”

Xalen shook his head. “I don’t think so. The moon doesn’t exactly brighten the day, does it? I think it’s something else.”

“A smile maybe,” Brabara offered.

“That seems more likely,” Xalen said pointing. “There’s even a smile carved on its face.”

“Try it,” Seknafret said.

Xalen stood in front of the statue while the others waited a short distance behind. He cleared his throat and spoke. “A smile.”

He heard a muffled click in response and the statue pivoted slightly to reveal a passageway behind it.

“Okay then,” Xalen said. “Nice one, Brabara.”

The group made their way down the passage which ended at a wooden door after only a dozen paces. Xalen placed an ear against the door and listened, his keen senses picking up the sound of conversation from the room beyond, but it was too faint or muffled for him to make out any words.

“There’s someone talking in there,” Xalen said. “Back up a bit, I’m going to open the door to take a look.”

Peering through the gap, Xalen saw a large chamber with two other exits, one directly opposite and a second to the left. Several bunk beds stood in orderly rows, shadows stretching across the floor from a brazier glowing red with hot coals. At the table beside it sat three figures in splint armour, swords resting within easy reach. Their faces were those of mice, whiskers twitching as they muttered in low voices. Two more lay asleep in the bunks against the far wall, tails curled around their bodies.

Xalen eased the door closed and returned to the others. “What’s the plan?” he asked after explaining what he’d seen.

“Kick open the door and attack them,” Brabara said, her jaw tight. “These rodents kidnapped the lord, and their minions killed innocent people and children. There should be no mercy.”

Seknafret’s eyes gleamed. “Agreed.”

The door slammed open with a crash, and the brazier’s glow flared across steel as the party charged in. Xalen loosed an arrow the instant the gap widened, the shaft streaking across the chamber to bury itself in the throat of the nearest soldier. Brabara surged forward, glaive sweeping in a wide arc that smashed through the table, scattering coals and forcing the mouse-soldiers back.

Seknafret raised her hand, a crackling bolt of shadow energy erupting from her palm. It struck one of the soldiers squarely, the impact hurling them against the bunks. The clash of steel rang out as the remaining soldiers scrambled to meet the assault.

Ebyn stepped into the doorway, his voice rising in a resonant chant. A spectral bell tolled through the chamber, its mournful peal shaking the air. One wounded soldier staggered, clutching his head as the necrotic magic gnawed at him. Another lunged toward Ebyn, only to be seized by a skeletal hand that gripped its shoulder, draining its strength.

The ruckus jolted the two sleepers awake; they scrambled for weapons, one seizing a short spear, the other hefting a dented shield. Xalen’s next arrow pinned the shield-bearer before he could close the distance. Brabara spun her glaive in a deadly flourish, slicing through the spear haft and driving its wielder back.

Seknafret’s eldritch blast flared again, slamming into the brazier and showering the chamber with sparks. Ebyn followed with a firebolt, the streak of flame igniting a fallen chair and forcing the last soldier to stumble into Brabara’s waiting strike.

Despite the reinforcements, the tide was against them. The party’s rhythm was relentless—Xalen’s arrows struck like lightning, Brabara’s glaive carving arcs of destruction, Seknafret’s blasts hammering foes with raw force, and Ebyn’s spells weaving fire and death. One by one the mouse soldiers fell, their squeaks fading into silence.

Breathing hard, Xalen retrieved some arrows from the fallen then moved to the left door. He pressed his ear against the wood, raising his hand for silence. After a long moment, he shook his head. “Nothing. Which way do we go?”

“Ahead,” said Ebyn, pointing at the door opposite the one they’d come in through. “The one you’re standing at may well lead back to where we started. This one could take us somewhere new.”

They opened the door Ebyn suggested and moved into a narrow passage. It turned left and right in a short zig-zag pattern before opening to an empty chamber with a ladder bolted to the floor leading up to a trap door in the ceiling.

Xalen climbed the ladder and gently pushed the trapdoor up a crack, just enough to get a look at the room above. Seeing it was empty he pushed the door open the rest of the way and climbed through with the others behind him.

Double doors exited the upper room, and Xalen moved over to them, pressing his ear against the wood. Hearing nothing, he eased the doors open and stepped into a massive chamber. Its high ceiling was supported by four stone columns, shadows stretching upward into a yawning hole that disappeared into the darkness above.

A lone mouse soldier stood beneath the opening, directly facing the door where Xalen stood. Behind it loomed another set of double doors, and to the left, a smaller iron‑bound door. But the most striking feature was the full‑sized wooden soldier chained to the floor midway between Xalen and the mouse guard.

Metal links looped around manacles on the toy soldier’s arms and legs; each fixed to thick rings embedded in the stone. The figure’s painted eyes stared blankly ahead, its posture rigid, as if waiting.

The mouse soldier squealed and charged, sword raised. Seknafret’s hand flared with eldritch light, and twin blasts of shadow energy slammed into the creature’s chest. It tumbled backward, armour clattering, and lay still.

“The sword,” Seknafret said, her voice low but urgent. “We need to place it in the toy soldier’s hand.”

“What about the chains?” Xalen asked, bow already half‑drawn, eyes flicking toward the ceiling hole.

“I have an idea,” Seknafret replied. “Brabara, give me back my amulet.”

Brabara stepped forward, handing over both sword and amulet. She planted her glaive’s haft against the floor, scanning the chamber with narrowed eyes. The silence pressed in, heavy and wrong. “This feels too easy,” she muttered.

Seknafret approached the chained figure. She draped the amulet over its wooden head, then examined its hand. A circular hole gaped in the palm. She angled the hilt of the sword and slid it into place. With a sharp click, the blade locked in.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the wood began to soften, edges melting into flesh. Painted clothing rippled and reshaped into steel armour. The toy soldier’s eyes blinked, now human, and its chest rose with a breath.

A sound broke the silence – laughter, echoing from every corner of the chamber. The fallen mouse soldier convulsed, its body swelling grotesquely. Fur sloughed away in clumps, replaced by glistening scales. Its limbs thickened, claws gouging the stone. Wings tore free from its back, unfurling with a snap. Its neck stretched, skull reshaping, until a massive green dragon loomed before them.

Reptilian eyes narrowed, pupils slitting as they fixed on the party. The creature’s mouth widened, sucking in a deep, rattling breath. The air grew hot, the chamber trembling as the dragon prepared to unleash its fury.

“Balloon!” Brabara shouted, diving low as the dragon exhaled a shimmering cloud of glittering dust. The haze engulfed the chamber, searing agony spiking into their minds. Each of them staggered, vision swimming, the shifting light making it impossible to focus.

Brabara was the first to shake off the disorientation. With a roar she hefted her glaive, its blade flashing arcs of steel as she launched into a frenzied assault. The dragon reeled back, claws scraping stone, but its eyes gleamed with cruel amusement.

Xalen steadied himself, bowstring taut, arrows flying in rapid succession. Each shaft whistled through the haze, striking scales and forcing the beast to twist and shift its footing.

From cover, Ebyn stepped forward, his voice rising in a sharp incantation. A lance of green energy burst from his hand toward the dragon, the power of the weave set to reduce the creature to nothing. The spell struck true, but the monster shrugged it off, scales rippling as if the magic were nothing more than a breeze.

Seknafret, keeping clear of the melee, turned her focus to the chained soldier. The woman thrashed against her restraints, armour clanging, eyes wide with desperation. Seknafret focussed on her amulet now draped around the soldier’s neck, and paced back toward the wall, searching for a place to free her without being caught up in the chaos.

The battle surged. Despite its massive size, the dragon moved with unnerving agility, teleporting across the chamber in bursts of green light. Brabara’s glaive slashed empty air as the beast vanished, only for Xalen to pivot and loose another arrow toward its new position.

Then the dragon inhaled again. A second wave of disorienting breath filled the room, glittering dust swirling like a storm. Minds reeled, focus shattered, and Brabara staggered as claws raked across her adamantine armour, sparks flying from the impact.

The clash drew reinforcements. Three mouse soldiers burst through the smaller door, crossbows raised. Bolts hissed through the haze, one grazing Ebyn’s shoulder, another splintering against the stone near Seknafret. The party fought desperately, arrows and glaive strikes cutting down the soldiers even as the dragon pressed its attack.

But the tide shifted. Ebyn’s chill touch clawed spectral fingers across the dragon’s flank, Brabara’s glaive carved deep into its chest, and one of Xalen’s arrows pierced an eye. With a final roar, the beast collapsed, its massive body shaking the chamber. The mouse soldiers fell soon after, their squeaks silenced by steel and spell.

Breathing hard, Seknafret called her amulet. A surge of power enveloped the chained soldier, teleporting her free of the restraints. She stumbled, then bolted for the smaller door. “My king!” she cried, vanishing into the passage.

“Wait!” Seknafret called after her. “I can heal you!”

Xalen shrugged, sprinting after her, bow in hand.

They hurried down a narrow passage that opened into a prison chamber. Steel bars divided the room, two empty cells yawning darkly along a wall. A brazier glowed in the centre, its heat warping the air, while cruel implements lay scattered across a wooden bench to the north. Hot metal pokers hissed in the coals, their tips glowing red, casting long shadows that clawed across the stone.

The chamber was silent, no prisoners, no guards – only the oppressive weight of what had once happened here.

“Stop running,” Xalen called, catching up with the soldier. His bow was lowered, his voice firm but not unkind. “We’re here to help you.”

“I cannot,” the soldier snapped, eyes wild. “My king needs me.”

“You’ll be more help to him after I heal you,” Seknafret said, stepping into the room with the others. “We all will.”

But the soldier’s gaze swept the empty cells, and her face twisted with frustration. Without a word she turned, sprinting back the way she had come.

The party exchanged weary glances. Brabara tightened her grip on her glaive, Seknafret muttered a quick incantation to steady her nerves, and Xalen shook his head. They drank what healing potions they had left, the bitter taste burning their throats, but the relief was fleeting. Time pressed against them like a weight – Lord Neverember’s fate was still unknown, and every heartbeat mattered. A rest was impossible.

They followed, boots pounding the stone, chasing the soldier back into the chamber where the dragon’s corpse lay sprawled. She threw open the double doors, the hinges groaning, and sprinted inside. The others surged after her, determination overriding exhaustion, ready for whatever lay ahead.

The chamber beyond the doors dwarfed even the dragon’s lair, its vaulted ceiling soaring high above a polished marble floor. In the centre, an ornate fountain gurgled softly, water spilling from the mouths of carved fish that circled an armless, headless woman’s body. The sight was unsettling, as though the statue itself had been mutilated and left to bleed water forever.

At the far end, a wide staircase rose to a landing crowned by a dais. Two thrones sat atop it, gleaming in the rippling air. Lord Neverember occupied the leftmost seat, his posture rigid, eyes vacant, as if bound by unseen force. On the right sat a nightmare: a humanoid figure with a mouse’s head, six smaller mouse heads sprouting grotesquely from the central one. Though its form was twisted, its silhouette carried a feminine shape.

The air shimmered as though they stood beneath a desert sun, yet no heat touched their skin. The distortion made the chamber feel unreal, as if the floor might dissolve beneath their feet at any moment.

The soldier’s eyes locked on the twisted mouse creature. With a cry that shook the chamber, she raised sword and shield, her voice ringing with desperate anguish.

“No!” she yelled. “Not again.”

Brabara’s response was immediate. She planted her glaive against the marble, invoked her magic, and her body swelled in size. Towering over the others, she strode forward, each step echoing across the chamber, placing herself firmly between the soldier and the thrones. Her gaze never left the monstrous figure beside Lord Neverember, her stance daring it to move.

The mouse creature was faster than thought. With a sharp squeak that pierced their ears, it sprang into the air and landed beside the soldier. Wicked claws lashed out, but her armour held firm – until the air itself rippled, reality warping around her. She collapsed, unconscious, as if the world had simply rejected her presence.

Another squeal split the chamber. The creature leapt again, landing beside Xalen. He twisted away with practiced reflexes, loosing arrows in quick succession. Shafts thudded into its hide, forcing it back a step.

Seknafret strode forward, her eyes blazing with radiant light. The glow seared fur and flesh, the creature shrieking as smoke curled from its body. Ebyn raised his hands, channelling the disintegrating force of the weave – but once more the spell fizzled against the monster’s warped reality, shrugged off like dust in the wind.

The mouse creature laughed, its cackles echoing in the vaulted chamber. Chaos rippled outward, birthing identical copies that darted toward the heroes. For a moment, the room was filled with clawing, squeaking shadows.

Ebyn’s response was swift. Arcane words spilled from his lips, and glowing darts of force streaked into each duplicate. One by one they shattered, leaving only the original, now wounded and enraged.

Seknafret knelt beside the fallen soldier, her amulet glowing as she pulled the woman back to consciousness. At the same time, Brabara’s glaive carved a deep wound into the creature’s side. It only laughed harder, its movements growing more frenzied. A long tail burst from its back, whipping through the air as it leapt high, spinning in a deadly arc. The tail scythed across the chamber, striking all around it, sparks flying from Brabara’s armour as she braced against the blow.

Then the walls themselves betrayed them. Three metal soldiers, silent until now, shuddered to life. Chains rattled as they stepped forward, weapons raised, their eyes glowing with cold light. For a heartbeat, the tide seemed to turn against the heroes.

But Seknafret’s radiant gaze flared again, a blinding burst that scorched both steel and flesh. One of the metal soldiers exploded into shards, the mouse beast staggering back under the holy fire. Ebyn’s magic slowed the remaining constructs, their movements faltering, and Xalen’s arrows along with Brabara’s glaive finished them off in quick succession.

With the reinforcements destroyed, the five heroes pressed their advantage. Arrows, glaive strikes, radiant fire, and arcane blasts hammered the twisted mouse until it faltered. At last, the former toy soldier – now fully human, armour gleaming – stepped forward. With a cry of vengeance, she drove her blade into the creature’s chest. The laughter died in its throat as it collapsed, the chamber falling silent save for the heroes’ ragged breaths.

“My King!” the soldier yelled as soon as the monster fell and ran to Lord Neverember.

With the mouse monster dead, the magic that held him rigid started to fade and movement returned to his limbs. The soldier cradled his head as he groaned, and she poured small sips of water into his parched lips.

“That was incredible,” Lord Neverember gasped once he’d shaken off the worst of the petrification’s effects. “You have more than earned your names today. Truly, the heroes of Neverwinter indeed.” He looked at the soldier who still held him close. “And you, my brave and beautiful midwinter gift, were as impressive as they.”

The soldier stepped back once it was clear Lord Neverember could stand on his own. “I thank you, my lord,” she said with her head bowed. “But I must ask, how did you come to be here? You are not my king.”

He shook his head. “I am not, my dear,” Lord Neverember began. “I am sorry to say that your king is long dead, and his kingdom remains only as a name in a children’s story. But you, my dear, are free now of the curse which kept you locked in that wooden body.”

The soldier gasped. “I remember the fight with the witch-queen and saw her turned into that foul creature we battled today, but after that… my memory fails me.”

Lord Neverember rose stiffly and took a stumbling step toward her. “All ancient history, my dear. Now, please, what is your name?”

The soldier’s expression calmed as she quickly regained her composure. “I am Isolde, Captain of the King’s Own, and first sword of Hlondath, I am at your service, my lord.”

“Are you indeed?” Lord Neverember’s eyes glinted. “How wonderful.”

“We should get going,” Ebyn interjected. “There’s no telling how long the magic that is keeping us small will continue. If it runs out while we are still in here, then…”

“Quite so,” Lord Neverember said, with an uncomfortable swallow. “Lead on. I have no desire to become sausage meat.”

“But there is more to this complex that we haven’t explored,” Xalen pointed out. “We may never get the chance to come back here again.”

“And I have no desire to return,” Lord Neverember scoffed. “Let us get out of here with all haste.”

“I’m going to explore a little more,” Xalen insisted. “If you guys want to leave, don’t let me stop you.”

“It’s silly for you to explore on your own,” Seknafret said.

Xalen shrugged. “I know.”

The party, minus Xalen, retraced their steps through the tunnels with Isolde supporting Lord Neverember, guiding him back out of the mouse hole and into the safety of his chambers.

Xalen chose another path. He slipped into the unexplored corridors, padding silently through the dark, every step measured, every breath controlled. The air was stale, the stone walls close, and the silence broken only by the faint drip of water somewhere ahead.

He reached a dead‑end passage where several fist‑sized holes burrowed into the ceiling. He froze, listening. From above came the faint, unsettling sound of chittering, like dozens of tiny voices whispering in the dark. His hand hovered near his bow, but after a long moment he eased back, unwilling to tempt whatever lurked beyond.

Turning away, he passed an open archway. Curiosity tugged at him, and he peered inside. A natural cavern stretched before him, the air thick with the stench of rot. In one corner, a fetid pool bubbled faintly, its surface slick with scum. At its centre rose a mound of earth, and atop it sat a locked wooden chest, half‑sunk into the foul water like bait waiting to be taken.

Xalen narrowed his eyes. Extending his mage hand, he worked the lock with precision until it clicked open. He drifted upward to the cavern ceiling, keeping distance between himself and the pool, and guided the spectral hand to lift the lid. Inside lay only a coin pouch and a small vial, their meagre worth mocking the effort.

“Better than nothing,” he muttered, pocketing the treasure. He turned back, retracing his steps until the mousehole opened once more into Lord Neverember’s bedroom. As he stepped out, he saw the others restored to their normal size. With each stride across the chamber, his own form grew until he stood among them once more.

“Anything interesting?” Seknafret asked once he rejoined the group.

Xalen shook his head. “Not really, got a bit more gold for the orphanage but the rest of the place was empty.”

Foskar, Lord Neverember’s chamberlain, had been busy while the group were down in the tunnels on their quest to save the lord. The bedroom had been cleared of dead mice and the furniture straightened up.

As soon as he realised that they had returned with the Lord the officious man swept into the room and set about checking Lord Neverember for injuries all while informing the lord of the steps he’d taken in his absence.

“Calm down, Foskar,” Lord Neverember said. “I am fine, thanks to the heroes of Neverwinter and the beautiful Isolde of Hlondath. I am certain that my saviours must be exhausted from their exertions, please make the guest rooms ready so they can rest.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Ebyn said. “We can rest in our apartments back in the city.”

“That’s at least two hours away,” Lord Neverember pointed out. “The rooms will be ready in minutes.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Ebyn said. “But I will be able to return us there faster. There is no need to go to any trouble.”

“As you wish,” Lord Neverember said. “Thank you again for your fine work this day.”

“Is Master Kringle around?” Xalen asked.

“I am afraid not,” Foskar said. “But he did ask me to tell you he’d be at the orphanage in the morning as you had discussed.”

“Great,” Xalen said. “Let’s go then.”

Ebyn gathered the group together and used his magic to teleport the four of them back to their apartments in the city of Neverwinter. As soon as they arrived, Ebyn wished the others a good night with instructions that he was not to be disturbed until the afternoon.

Exhausted, they each retired to their chambers, but sleep brought no peace. As had become routine, the nightmare claimed them once more.

Vecna fled through shadowed realms, the coalition of champions closing in. He knew their pursuit would end in his death – inevitability pressed against him like a blade at his throat. Yet despair did not claim him. Instead, his mind sharpened, conceiving a plan that would outlast his mortal defeat.

Drawing upon the primal marrow of magic itself, Vecna carved two stone tablets, each etched with ancient sigils that pulsed with forbidden power. Together, the tablets formed a spell not of this world, a spell to claw back existence from the void. He hid them in places unreachable by mortals, sanctuaries where only the most exalted or corrupted beings might tread.

His cults received their orders: spread whispers of the tablets, but never their true purpose. Let the world believe they were fragments of a spell greater than any before, a lure for ambition and greed. Thus, the seeds of his return were sown.

When his preparations were complete, Vecna ceased his flight. He allowed the champions to find him, standing tall in defiance. The battle that followed was apocalyptic. Arcane fire and divine wrath tore the skies and steel clashed against necrotic power. Vecna fought with grim resolve, knowing loss was acceptable – for loss was only temporary. Two champions fell beneath his hand, and another staggered away broken, before the final blow struck him down.

As his body crumpled, the surviving champions gathered, exhausted but triumphant. Vecna’s last sight was not of their faces, but of dread mists rising to claim him – curling tendrils of shadow that held no promise of return.

---

Xalen and Brabara woke early that morning and made their way to the orphanage. The trip was uneventful, and they were greeted in the foyer by an excited Aimee, the house mistress.

“Hello again, Xalen,” the woman said, grinning as she looked Brabara up and down. “Who is your friend?”

“I’m Brabara, sergeant of the Neverwinter watch,” Brabara said stepping forward with her hand out in greeting.

Aimee shook Brabara’s hand, then looked back at Xalen. “I had no idea you were so well known?”

Xalen raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Aimee chuckled. “There’s no need for modesty. Master Kringle told us it was you who asked him to visit us this morning.”

“He’s here already?”

“Yes, for about half an hour,” Aimee replied. “Let me take you to him.”

Aimee led Xalen and Brabara through the narrow corridors of the reception building and out into a bright courtyard surrounded by the dormitory halls and mess. Nikola Kringle sat at the centre of the courtyard surrounded by several score orphans who all babbled and smiled as he handed out gifts from his never-empty red bag.

Nikola looked up and waved as he saw them, chuckling in that deep “ho ho ho” he was so fond of.

The pair waited at the edge of the excited circle of children, watching their bright faces. Some of them had tears of joy falling from their eyes as they turned their precious new toys over in their hands.

Once the last child had received their gift, Nikola called them both over. “Is there anything I might get you on this magnificent midwinter morn?” Nikola said with a jolly rumble.

“Oh,” Brabara skipped excitedly forward and sat awkwardly on Nikola’s lap. “I do have something to ask you?”

The old man winced as Brabara’s considerable bulk settled on his, and the chair creaked alarmingly. “And what is it, my dear?” he managed, with perhaps a hint less enthusiasm than before.

“Last night, at the ball,” Brabara began, “I felt as beautiful as I had ever in my life, but my husband, Tiny was not there to share the moment with me.”

“I see,” Nikola said, trying – and failing – to shift to a more comfortable position.

“Would you happen to have a painting in that bag of yours, that could show Tiny how lovely I looked?”

Nikola leaned down and lifted the bag with one hand while rummaging inside with the other. “You see, Brabara,” he began. “I am not a painter of portraits, so I don’t think I have anything like that in here to give you.”

Brabara’s face fell. “Oh.”

“But what I am,” Nikola continued, “is a toy maker, and I do believe that I might have something even better than a flat and lifeless painting. Ah yes, here it is.”

Nikola smiled and removed a doll, dressed in the same kind of yellow dress Brabara wore to the ball, with her hair styled in the same way as Brabara’s had been styled and the dolls face looking exactly like hers.

Brabara squeaked in joy and leapt up from Nikola’s lap, the toy doll looking tiny in Brabara’s meaty hands. “This is perfect,” she said. “I shall call her Brabie.”

Nikola chuckled while rubbing his thighs with his hands to stimulate circulation. “And what about you, Xalen, is there any gift you might seek on this joyful day?”

Xalen shook his head. “I don’t think I need a doll right now, thank you.”

Brabara frowned. “But there is something,” she said. “Last night you said you were able to fetch anything that belonged to us no matter where it might be. Is that right?”

Nikola nodded. “If the item belongs to you, and you did not sell it or give it away then merely ask for it, and I am able to get it.”

Xalen looked at Brabara, a curious expression on his face. “What are you thinking?”

“The sword, Xalen,” Brabara explained, a mischievous grin on her face. “The one Ebyn and Seknafret took from you. If you want it, you can ask Nikola to get it back.”

Xalen considered this for a moment. “It was a nice blade.”

“Is that truly what you’d like from me?” Nikola asked.

“Yes,” Xalen said. “I think it is.”

“Then ask.”

“Can you please find me the transforming sword I found in the treasure room in Tovag?” Xalen asked.

Nikola nodded and rummaged around his ever-full bag. A moment later, the short sword Ebyn had gone to great pains to hide in the elemental plane of water was in his hand. Nikola’s eyes looked inward, and he shook his head and gasped, dropping the blade as if it had stung him. “Are you sure you want that thing?”

Xalen reached down and picked the sword up, the familiar sensation of holding the weapon swept over him and he did not fight it. “I’m sure,” he said, mentally commanding the sword to become a dagger identical to his existing weapon, before sheathing it at his side.

Nikola watched Xalen closely for a moment, but when nothing strange happened he shrugged and turned back to the gathered children with a broad smile. “It has been a joyous and wonderful experience meeting all of you,” the jolly man said casting his gaze across the assembled crowd. “But midwinter is such a busy time for a toymaker, and I must take my leave.”

Aimee stepped up beside the man. “What do we say, children?”

“Thank you, Master Kringle,” they all said, somewhat in unison.

Nikola bowed low. “Thank you, children, for bringing such joy to an old man’s heart.”

Aimee led Nikola, Xalen, and Brabara back through the reception building and bid them farewell at the front door.

“My friends,” Nikola said as they stood at the top of the stairs. “I can tell that you face some challenging days ahead of you, and I cannot begin to understand the pressure that you might be under, but I urge you to trust one another,” his eyes flicked to the dagger at Xalen’s side. “In the darkest of times you must always rely on those closest to you, lean on them and let them lean on you and I know you will prevail as you prevailed last night.”

With that, Nikola hefted his red sack over his shoulder and walked away.

Brabara and Xalen returned to the apartment just as two messengers were departing. Ebyn stood in the courtyard watching them as they left.

“What’s that?” Brabara asked.

“Just some letters I needed delivered,” Ebyn replied.

“How did it go with the children?” Seknafret said.

Brabara’s eyes gleamed. “I got this,” she said, thrusting the doll in Ebyn’s face. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Ebyn batted the toy aside. “What in the Raven Queen’s name is that?”

“She’s called, Brabie,” Brabara explained. “It’s a doll of me, as I was at the midwinter ball. It’s a gift for Tiny.”

Ebyn frowned. “How wonderful.”

“It’s lovely,” Seknafret said. “It looks just like you. I am sure Tiny will love it.”

Brabara beamed. “You think so?”

“Of course,” Xalen said. “How could he not?”

“Mordenkainen contacted me this morning,” Ebyn said. “The portal is open. We will need to travel a few miles out of town to reach it. Go get your things and let’s go.”

The group packed quickly and left the city on foot. The journey to the portal was uneventful and the gateway was located exactly where Mordenkainen’s message indicated that it would.

All the same, Ebyn asked that the group wait while he cast auguries to see if everything was truly as it seemed to be. His magic did not suggest anything untoward was at play. “It seems to be legitimate,” he said.

“So, we can go now?” Brabara said, obviously excited at the prospect of seeing Tiny again.

Ebyn nodded. “Yes.”

The group stepped through the portal to find themselves back in Alustriel’s sanctuary for the first time in several weeks. Alustriel and Mordenkainen were both there waiting for them as they stepped through.

“Welcome back, travellers,” Alustriel said warmly. “We are glad to see you safe. You had quite the detour.”

“Detour?!” Ebyn’s face hardened. He turned on Mordenkainen. “The last time we saw you, Strahd and his soldiers attacked the camp. You told us to take the portal. It hurled us into Kas’s realm.”

Mordenkainen’s eyes narrowed. “And what are you suggesting, Ebyn?”

“Did you send us there?” Ebyn’s voice was sharp, his anger plain.

“What reason would I have for that?” Mordenkainen snapped.

“Then explain it!”

Mordenkainen drew a long breath. “You recall the beam of dark energy Strahd cast through the portal? Perhaps that twisted its destination.”

“And you sent us through anyway?”

“It was a risk,” Mordenkainen said. “Stay and face certain death or take your chances.”

Ebyn spat. “A risk you chose not to share. Why didn’t you follow us?”

“I couldn’t. After the four of you escaped, Strahd and his nightmares cut off my path to the portal. I didn’t want them following you, so I stopped concentration and teleported away.”

Ebyn considered that for a moment. “How did you get back? I thought there was no way to escape the mists.”

“That is correct,” Mordenkainen said. “Except for the Vistani. By ancient pact they are free to move in and out of the mists. I disguised myself as one of them and was able to get out that way.” He looked at Alustriel. “As soon as I was free, I contacted Alustriel and she was able to bring me back here. Like she did for you.”

Ebyn stood quietly, his hands clenched into fists and his breathing coming in short bursts.

“Do you have the rod piece?” Mordenkainen asked once it was clear Ebyn had nothing more to say.

“We do,” Ebyn said finally.

Mordenkainen extended his hand. “May I have it?”

Ebyn removed the artifact from his pouch and passed it, as well as a sealed envelope, to Mordenkainen.

“What is this?” the archmage said holding up the letter.

“Something I’d like to discuss with you both, soon,” Ebyn said. “Once we’ve all had a chance to think more clearly.”

Mordenkainen nodded. “As you wish.”

“Before you go and take a well-earned rest,” Alustriel said. “I’m afraid I have some sad news. Tasha is dead.”

Seknafret gasped. “What? How?”

“She never recovered from her experiences on Athas,” Alustriel shook her head. “The wasting sickness proved too much for her – or us – to overcome.”

“But surely death is not permanent for people like you?” Ebyn said. “There are spells that can bring people back to life, or even a clone, or some other contingency.”

“Unfortunately, none of those things are possible,” Alustriel said sadly. “We must accept her sacrifice and carry on without her – we are all in this together.”

“What do you mean, not possible?” Ebyn said. “I refuse to accept that.”

Alustriel turned to Ebyn. “Your emotions are up right now,” she said holding his gaze. “Let us wait until we’ve all had a chance to think more clearly.”

Ebyn opened his mouth as if to speak but instead turned and stalked out of the room.

“Where’s Brabara?” Seknafret said looking around after Ebyn walked away.

“She snuck off during Ebyn’s rant,” Xalen said. “She’s probably halfway to Tiny’s apartment by now.”