Fires of Justice

Part 6:  Penitent – The Lesson

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It was after dark, and the work crew had changed, once, when one of the men found the sky-stone.

He called out, and Naliara – who had never actually stopped working, only taken a break, when the first group stopped – ran to him.

The sky-stone didn’t look like much.  It was three feet long, maybe a foot thick at its thickest point, and looked, for all the world, like a pitted metal carrot.

Naliara was almost afraid to touch it, but she knew it needed to be moved, hidden, before the Mage-Priests of Khodanra came and took it away.  And she had started this, so she would finish it.  She waved over the man who led this group, and scratched a note in the dirt, asking for a block and tackle.

The block and tackle were brought quickly, and the man thought to bring a horse and cart, as well.

As the ropes were being rigged, Geoniss, the young Priest of Arteneh approached Naliara, and asked for a word.  She granted it readily, walking some little distance away with the young man.

“What will you do with the sky-stone, Naliara?” Geoniss asked, once they were out of earshot.

Immediately, Naliara smiled, and lifted the platinum symbol of Arteneh, an open hand with a chain-mail glove on, from the young Priest’s chest, and tapped it meaningfully.

Geoniss let out an explosive sigh of relief – then checked himself, and said, “Are you certain, Guardian of the Songs?  I would not have you offend your God, and increase the penance you must do!”

Naliara only nodded, then touched the symbol of Arteneh again, and her own symbol of Bragala.  Then she touched both at once, with her pinkie and thumb, and Geoniss understood.

“Yes,” the Priest agreed.  “Our gods are allies.

“Thank you, Naliara.  I shall send word to my brethren, immediately.”

As the young priest hurried off, Naliara went back to the block and tackle, and gave an experimental tug on the rope that was now fastened to the sky-stone.

It moved, easily.

Naliara frowned, and pulled again, lifting the large stone off the ground easily, all by herself.  That bothered her – and she decided to see if the stone was hollow.  She grabbed a pick that lay nearby, leftover from the excavation, and swung it at the sky-stone.

The shock of the impact traveled up the pick, and into her arms and shoulders.  Naliara dropped the pick, and shook her stinging hands violently.  Then she looked at the sky-stone.

There wasn’t a mark on it.

“Here, little miss,” said one of the men watching.  “Let me take a swing at it.”

Naliara looked at the man, and nodded.  He was the local blacksmith, and his arms and shoulders were huge, rippling with muscle.

A moment later, the blacksmith dropped the pick, and shook his own stinging hands while letting out a string of curses that made several of his fellow townspeople laugh.

And still, the sky-stone was totally unmarked.

“Jenorak’s hammer!” the smith exclaimed.  “The weapons I could make from such a metal!  If I could make a fire hot enough to melt it, that is!”

Naliara nodded, wide-eyed, and then moved the sky-stone to the cart, needing no help to shift the amazingly light hunk of metal.  When it was done, the smith took the cart back to the inn he’d borrowed it from, sky-stone and all.  Burying the stone again, elsewhere, had occurred to Naliara, but that would probably only draw attention to it.  Best to hide it as plainly as possible . . . .

That night, and the two nights that followed, Naliara slept under the cart the stone was in, in the stables of the inn that owned the cart.  There were no attempts to steal the sky-stone, or attack the town.

Early in the afternoon of the third day after the finding of the sky-stone, a party of twelve clerics arrived, an even mixture of Clerics of Arteneh, and of Jenorak, the god of fire and smiths.  Naliara sighed in relief, on seeing the party, and she led them to the sky-stone, right away.

While the clerics of Jenorak examined the stone, the leader of the party, a forty-ish man who was a cleric of Arteneh, introduced himself to Naliara.

“I am Aldan, Priest of Arteneh,” the man said, with a bow.  “And I am very grateful for your turning this find over to us, m’Lady.”

Blushing, Naliara returned the bow, and handed the Priest the note she carried for such moments.

“ ‘My name is Naliara,’ ” Aldan read.  “ ‘I am forbidden to speak by my god, Bragala, as a punishment for acts I care not to discuss. I am attempting to earn my freedom from his curse. How may I aid you?’

“You have aided us enough, already, Naliara,” Aldan said.  “Is there some way I may repay you?”

Naliara looked pointedly around at the town, half-destroyed, and then pointed deliberately at the tent where the young Priest Geoniss was working at helping the injured.

“The injured, yes,” Aldan said, and motioned the other clerics of Arteneh in the direction of the tent.  “The town . . . we have brought a wagon full of food, to maintain them . . . until the caravan that follows us arrives.  It bears building supplies, and tools.  And another party of followers of Arteneh and Jenorak follows with it, to help in the rebuilding.”

Naliara bowed deeply to Aldan, then, and smiled when she straightened.

“And is there anything that I, or my people, may do for you, Naliara?” Aldan asked.

Naliara thought for a moment, then shook her head no – and Aldan smiled at her, and nodded.

“Come then,” Aldan said.  “Let us leave the Priests of Jenorak to their awe over the sky-stone.  I will help with the injured, and then I think I shall at least purchase your lunch, Naliara, in gratitude for your assistance.”

With seven clerics of Arteneh working their spells, the healing tent was soon emptied, and Aldan took Naliara and Geoniss, the young priest who had summoned the other priests here, to lunch.  After the meal, Aldan said that the party would leave the next morning, to return to Falmirin, the city from which they had come.

“I would be grateful, if you were both to accompany us,” Aldan said.  “We may well be attacked, en route, and I would not lose the stone for lack of defenders.  And you, Geoniss . . . I think it may be time for you to devote some time to your studies – in preparation for promotion.”

Geoniss stared blankly for a moment, then babbled his thanks to the older priest.  Aldan waved off the thanks, pointing out that Geoniss had earned the reward, and looked to Naliara to see if she would accompany them.

The young Guardian of the Songs nodded easily, and Aldan nodded his thanks.

_________________________________________________

They left at dawn, the next day, with all of the fourteen members of the party riding, save for Geoniss and Naliara.  Geoniss drove the cart that the priests had purchased from the inn, with the sky-stone in the back.  Naliara simply trotted along, keeping pace with the horses easily, resting for fifteen or twenty minutes every hour and a half, by riding in the cart with Geoniss.

An hour after lunch, the attack came.

The party was riding through a patch of woods, with Naliara jogging along just ahead of the cart, when there was a sudden sound of chanting, and a lightning bolt leapt out of the woods, straight at the cart and Geoniss.  Naliara was moving, trying to get to the young priest, but it seemed that there was really no need.  Aldan had said he expected an attack, and it was obvious, from the speed of his reaction, that he had dealt with the Mage-Priests of Khodanra before.

The older, more experienced priest said a single word of magic, in that clear, liquid language of clerical spells, and the lightning bolt turned upwards, at the last possible instant, arcing away into the sky, and disappearing.

And that’s when the hobgoblins attacked, some thirty of the creatures pouring out of the woods that bordered the trail, most wielding swords, some carrying big, double-bladed battleaxes.

The Priests of Jenorak roared, delighted to face an enemy hated by all of their God’s worshippers, and doubly hated by the four dwarven clerics of Jenorak, as all dwarves hated hobgoblins.

The Priests of Arteneh, though, were more quiet, chanting their spells, setting up defenses against the inevitable magical attacks of the Mage-Priests of Khodanra.

Geoniss, as he had been instructed to do in case of attack, set up personal magical defenses, and stayed with the sky-stone.

And Naliara . . . Naliara became a whirling dervish of destruction, moving through the outer ranks of the hobgoblins like a scythe.

She began at the back of the hobgoblin platoon, running around to the back through the horses.  The front of the fight would be too crowded, and violently active, with the four dwarven and two human worshippers of Jenorak throwing themselves into the battle with abandon (and no small amount of glee), so, she would work from the back.

She was in the first steps of the violent dance before she ever reached the hobgoblins.  There was too much crowding for her to use her staff, and too many weapons to go unarmed, so she pulled her short sword, as she moved to attack.

The first hobgoblin never even saw her coming.  Naliara simply cartwheeled into him, lead foot slamming down into the juncture of skull and neck, snapping the brownish-gray creature’s neck easily.  Before the others realized they were under attack from behind, Naliara had killed two more in a similar fashion.  Then, finally, some of the rear guard turned to face her, and Naliara had her hands full.

She fought as well as she ever had, that day, short sword and feet flashing with a speed and grace that came from a mixture of years of training, and sheer necessity.  By herself, Naliara accounted for eight of the hobgoblins, before the battle was done.

And then it was over.  There were thirty hobgoblin bodies on the ground, a single dwarven cleric groaning and clutching a belly wound, one of the human clerics of Jenorak dead, his head mostly removed by a blow from a battleaxe, and two of the Priests of Arteneh dead, both of spells cast by the Mage-Priests of Khodanra.  Of at the edge of the woods, Naliara could see three dead men, in the robes of the Mage-Priests of Khodanra.

“Damn,” Aldan sighed, doffing the helmet he wore, and wiping sweat from his face.  “They didn’t attack with their full force, obviously, and still . . . we suffered.  The stone, Zarvek?”

The dwarven cleric who had hauled himself up in the back of the cart called back that the stone was still there – and Naliara realized what was wrong.

There was no sign of Geoniss, anywhere.

Naliara spun to face Aldan again, and the older priest nodded, wearily.  “I know, Naliara,” he said.  “They captured Geoniss.  I don’t know how it was done, but I did see two acolytes of Khodanra dragging him into the woods.

“I will communicate with my brethren, and summon a war party to rescue him, and to reinforce us – if it can be done, in time.”

Naliara cocked her head in puzzlement, and Aldan said, “The higher magics of the Mage-Priests of Khodanra can only be accessed through sacrifice to their gods – and those sacrifices are most effective when the sacrifice is a member of the group the magic is to be worked against.

“They will wait until sundown, as that is a sacred time to them.  Not so sacred as midnight, but they won’t wait that long.  Sundown.

“I must summon my brethren, Naliara, else we shall have no chance of rescuing him – or of retaining the sky-stone.”

Aldan moved away, to pray, and summon his fellow priests, and Naliara moved to the cart, and sat on the back, staring at the ground with a furious frown on her face.

Geoniss is a good man, she thought.  He never shirked his duty, at Green Trees.  When he was out of magic, he healed the wounded and sick as best he could with hand and skill.  He never quit, or even slowed, until he had no choice but to sleep.  He deserves better than this!  And if the Priests of Arteneh cannot arrive in time, Geoniss will be sacrificed, and his death used against his fellow priests, his God . . . .

It isn’t right!

She thought for a long moment, then nodded, sharply, and grabbed her things from the front of the cart.  She dug parchment and a stick of charcoal from her pack, and wrote a note to Aldan, before shouldering her pack, and starting towards the area where the older priest knelt in meditation, having finished his prayers.

After a few moments, Aldan opened his eyes, to see Naliara kneeling across from him, and he nodded to her.

“They are coming,” Aldan said.  “A war party is being formed, and they will move as quickly as magic will allow.  I only hope it will be quickly enough.”

Naliara nodded, and handed the man the note she had written.

“ ‘I am going to go after Geoniss,’ ” Aldan read aloud.  “ ‘It is possible that I can rescue him, if they are careless.  If that cannot be done, then perhaps I can delay their sacrifice, long enough for aid to reach us.  Regardless of which is the case, I have to try.’ ”

Naliara watched Aldan’s face, and saw the mixed hope, fright, and uncertainty that he felt.  She knew he would argue with her, then.

“It is a bad idea, Naliara,” Aldan said.  “You are one person, with no magic to aid you, against the Gods only know how many of the Mage-Priests.  You cannot hope to win.”

Naliara raised one eyebrow at the priest, picked up a fist-sized stone, tossed it in the air, and away from them some, and, focusing carefully on the stone, said, “Ket!” in a quiet voice.

The stone broke into six pieces, as it fell, from the impact of Naliara’s voice.  When she looked back to Aldan, his eyes were wide.

“Such power!” the priest said.  He hesitated a moment, then said, “Still . . . Naliara, you shouldn’t go.”

She picked up a stick, and scrawled, “I must,” in the dirt.

“Then let me send someone with you, at least,” Aldan said.

Naliara shook her head firmly, and pointed at the cart containing the sky-stone.

“Yes, the sky-stone,” Aldan said with a sigh.  “We must protect it.  And we should move on from this place.

“Still . . . I could spare one or two of the priests from the party, Naliara.”

She shook her head firmly, and scrawled in the dirt, “No.  The stone must not fall into their hands.  And besides, I am used to working alone.”

She stood, then, to forestall further argument, and started to turn away, stopping when Aldan said her name softly.

“If you must, then you must,” Aldan said, when she turned back to him.  “I will pray for your success, you may rest assured.  But . . . why, Naliara?  Why is this so important to you, that you must take such a risk?”

She hesitated, then wrote again in the dirt, after smoothing it over and erasing her previous messages.  Then, before Aldan could even move to read what she wrote, she was trotting away, across the trail, and into the woods.

Aldan watched her go, knowing that she would not return, if he called, then moved around to read what she had written.

I feel I have been wrong, in my attempts to end this curse.  And it was Geoniss who showed me that I was wrong, without meaning to do so.  He has worked so hard, driving himself past his own limits, to help people, for no other reason than that it what he feels is right.  Yes, his God agrees, and he takes his sense of right and wrong from Arteneh.  But he acted on his feelings, not any orders.

I have done nothing for the right reasons.  Geoniss showed me that, without meaning to.  So I must do this.

Because it is right.

“May Arteneh and Bragala watch over you, Naliara, Guardian of the Songs, in your mission,” Aldan said.  “May they smile on your efforts . . . and acknowledge that you begin to learn what they would teach you.

“And . . . succeed or not, I swear to my God, and to yours, that I will find a bard, and tell him of the Penitent, of the lessons she learned – and the lesson she taught a Priest of Arteneh.”

Aldan stood, then, and began shouting orders, that the bodies of their dead be wrapped, and loaded in the cart, and that they get ready to move on.

“The little Guardian of Songs?” Zarvek, the dwarven cleric of Jenorak asked.  “Where has she gotten off to?”

“Naliara has gone to try and rescue Geoniss,” Aldan said, loud enough that the whole party might hear.  “And, should she be unable to do that, to buy us time, that others may do so.

“And, by Arteneh’s Hand, we’ll not waste one second of that time!  Mount, Zarvek!  We ride out, now!”

In less than a minute, the party was moving up the road at the best speed that the cart containing the sky-stone would allow.

And nine priests were praying, for all their worth, for the success of one small woman, on a suicidal mission.

_________________________________________________

It was barely an hour before sundown, when Naliara got close enough to the camp of the Mage-Priests of Khodanra to see that she had almost no chance of rescuing Geoniss, before the ceremony of sacrifice began.

There were some fifteen of the Mage-Priests in the camp, which was in a clearing on top of a large hill, and there were another sixty hobgoblin soldiers, as well.

I can’t fight them all, she thought, backing away from the edge of the woods.  Unless . . . there may be something I can do by trickery.  To slow them, at least, make them miss the sundown sacrifice.  Then, they would have to wait for midnight, and that would give Aldan’s reinforcements time to save Geoniss.  And me, if they should capture me, instead of killing me.

She sat, and thought, for maybe ten minutes, going over the things she’d seen in and around the camp, before coming up with a plan – desperate and insane though it was.

She was no trained thief – but Naliara was stealthy enough, and the hobgoblins she was stealing from were, being hobgoblins, none too bright, and even less observant.  In twenty minutes, Naliara had managed to steal three large clay jugs of hobgoblin whiskey, and a half-dozen flasks of lamp oil.  She returned to her hiding place in the woods, and began her work.

First, she confirmed that the hobgoblin whiskey was, indeed, extremely flammable.  It burst into cool blue flames at the slightest prompting of her voice.  She began mixing the whiskey with the thick, crude lamp oil, and soon had a half a dozen small fire-bombs – and three large ones.  They needed no wicks, as she would set them off with her voice.

She moved quickly then, getting to a place as near the makeshift altar the Mage-Priests had set up on top of the hill as she could.  She set her smaller fire-bombs down, and a small sling she had made from the  torn off sleeve from an older, tattered tunic, then laid out her bow, and stuck a dozen arrows in the ground before herself.  Then she moved some fifty paces around the circle, to a second spot, carrying the larger firebombs, and her sword and staff.

Then, with twenty minutes until sundown, she waited, watching.

The head of the Mage-Priests, it seemed, was not going to perform the ceremony himself.  Instead, a younger Mage-Priest made the preparations, having Geoniss brought to the hastily made altar from the nearby stake where he had been tied.  The young priest was gagged with a wide leather band, which, Naliara was certain, would have a wooden peg attached, to hold his tongue down, and keep him from casting spells.

At five minutes to sundown, the hobgoblins were gathered in slightly uneven ranks, and the fifteen Mage-Priests gathered in three groups, one of five, who would actually perform the sacrifice, one of three, who would wield the energies garnered against the clerics protecting the sky-stone, and one of seven, who would simply watch.

Naliara had tied one of her spare tunics into a large, makeshift sling.  She took the large sling, loaded with a gallon-sized clay jug containing a mix of whiskey and lamp oil, in her hand.

The Mage-Priests began chanting – and Naliara attacked.

She swung her large sling a couple of times, them flung it overhand, releasing the missile at the top of her swing, sending it arcing out over the site of the sacrifice.  As it passed over the ranks of hobgoblins, she shouted, tightening her vocal cords, as though to focus her voice on the very back of an auditorium.

“Ketvezzz!”

The jug broke, on “Ket,” and the contents ignited on “vezzz” – and fell, burning, on the ranks of hobgoblins.

Pandemonium ensued.

The hobgoblins, more than half of them burning, though only some ten or so badly, broke ranks, screaming in panic, and anger.  The Mage-Priests performing the sacrifice stopped, in their shock – then started over, at a screamed command from the head of their order.

Naliara could not let the watchers begin casting spells – she knew that she would die, her mission unfulfilled, if she allowed that.

She swiftly loaded and fired a second large fire-bomb, igniting this one as it fell towards the group of Mage-Priests.  She saw the head of the Mage-Priests duck aside, and shook her head in anger, even as the other six watchers caught fire, and began screaming, and throwing themselves on the ground.

The hobgoblins (those who weren’t burning, at least) were moving her way.  Naliara used her last large fire-bomb to start a fire, between herself and them, stopping – or at least delaying – them.

Then she moved, swiftly, but silently, to her second attack site.

The group of five Mage-Priests was still chanting – and now the one leading the chant had picked up a large, broad-bladed dagger, and was approaching Geoniss.

Naliara snatched up her bow, and a single arrow, and fired, barely taking time to aim.  It was not the best shot she ever made – but it was sufficient.  The arrow, which she had intended to hit the Mage-Priest’s chest, went low – and pierced just above and to the right of the Mage-Priest’s groin . . . .

He screamed, and fell to the ground – and the other Mage-Priests let out a howl of anger.

There would not be time, now, to finish their sacrifice before sundown.

Grinning at her at least partial success, Naliara dropped her bow, and grabbed the smaller sling, and a flask of oil-and-whiskey mixture.  She flung it, and it went more truly than her arrow.  She ignited it just over the heads of the sacrificial group – and they caught fire, all of them.  She flung another, at the group of three that had been intending to use the sacrificial energies – and it hit, but the flames went out quickly.  These three had been smart enough to cast a protection spell against fire, while she had been attacking the others.

Thinking curses, Naliara took up her bow, and fired at them with arrows – all of which deflected.

Damn! she thought, slinging her bow across her back, and snagging the sling and two more flask-bombs.  I had hoped to avoid this part.

She ran then, straight at the Mage-Priests, using the occasional clump of hobgoblins (far too confused and frightened to be any threat) as cover for her approach.

As she approached, one of the Mage-Priests saw her, pointed, and began chanting a spell, in the harsh language of mages.

“Tark!” Naliara shouted – and the mage priest flew backwards, most of his bones broken, his spell unfinished.

The other two turned to flee – and Naliara decided she could not risk them escaping.  She threw, by hand, one of her flask bombs, aiming just ahead of the two running Mage-Priests.  At just over head-height, she detonated it, with her voice.  While the flames did only a little damage, the heavy glass shards tore into the faces of the Mage-Priests, and they both dropped to the ground, screaming, and clutching their faces.

Her way was clear.  Naliara ran to Geoniss, drawing her short sword, and with four quick blows, cut his hands and feet free.  Even as he rose, he was tearing off his gag, and, once that was done, he began casting protection magics, even as he followed Naliara away from the altar, and out of the light.

After the spells were done, Geoniss spoke only once, before saving his breath for running.

“Thank you, Naliara!” the young priest said, quietly, but emphatically.  “Thank you, for my life!”

Naliara smiled at him, over her shoulder, and kept running.  Eventually, the group would organized, and she couldn’t be sure that all the Mage-Priests were so injured as to be unable to cast spells to track them.

They had gone perhaps two miles, when they were forced to remember what they had forgotten.

Geoniss had taken the lead.  He’d been in the area for longer than Naliara, and knew the land somewhat, from wandering it in search of healing herbs.  So it was he, not Naliara, who ran into the magically-summoned giant spider-web that suddenly appeared between two trees.

Even as Naliara spun to face the source of the words that had called the web into existence, she remembered that the head of the Mage-Priests had escaped her fire-bombs, and fled.

“Die, b*tch!” the High Wizard snarled.

And then that man did shove the huge, ornate dagger he carried into Naliara’s chest, missing her heart only barely – but cutting one of the major arteries that came out of it.

Naliara knew that she would die – and decided that, no matter what else happened, this man would not harm Geoniss, after all the effort she had gone to in order to rescue the young Priest of Arteneh.

She grabbed robe of the High Wizard of Khodanra, and spat the last word she would ever speak in this world, right in his face, spraying her blood in his face as she did so.

“Bragala!” Naliara said, the word half-prayer, half-weapon.

On “Bra-” the High Wizard’s flesh was flayed from his face.

On “-ga-” the bones in his head shattered, driving spikes of bone into his brain.

On “-la!” the High Wizard of Khodanra’s body flew backwards, out of Naliara’s grip, and slammed into a nearby tree, hard enough to bend the tree to a thirty degree angle, shatter the man’s remaining bones, and gel his organs.  His corpse fell to the ground, barely recognizable as human.

Naliara was on her knees, clutching at her chest, gasping, and trying to breathe.  She was dying, she knew – but the body tried to live on, anyway.

She didn’t even hear Geoniss’s frantic cries, asking if she was all right.  She was too busy saying her final prayer.

Oh, Lord Bragala! Naliara prayed silently.  Please, Lord – whatever you do with me, whether or not I’ve earned to right to sing in your choir – do not let Geoniss come to harm!  He is a good man, and deserves better.  If Arteneh is somehow unaware of the fate of his follower, please – make him aware, or protect Geoniss yourself, until Arteneh becomes aware!

I know I must be a disappointment to you, Lord Bragala.  Pride in my voice cost a life, and I have not learned what you needed me to learn, I do not think.  Not fully, I know.  Please, Lord, even if I must bear the Cacophony . . . let Geoniss be safe!

And then Naliara of Dalenvar did die.

_________________________________________________

Adric of Jerasenn had run into the party of Priests of Arteneh on the road, and, on hearing their mission – to rescue –  or avenge, if necessary – Naliara and Geoniss, had joined them, offering his not-inconsiderable skill with saber and sling to the party willingly.  His aid had been accepted gladly, and now he scouted for the party.

So it was Adric, who found Geoniss, trapped in a magical web, and called for the clerics of Arteneh to advance.

“Naliara!” Geoniss cried.  “Master Bard, I cannot see!  Is she alive?”

“I . . . do not see her,” Adric said.

The party from Arteneh’s temple arrived, then, and with a word of magic, Geoniss was freed.

He told the others what had happened, of Naliara’s cunning and bravery, and of the attack by what he believed to be the High Wizard of Khodanra.

They found the body of the High Wizard, confirmed that it was him by the necklace that was his badge of office.

Of Naliara, they found only a huge bloodstain, too large to have left the young woman alive.

There was no body.

Geoniss knelt beside the stain, both hands in the blood, and wept for the woman who had saved him, and, by saving him, and the sky-stone, uncounted numbers of lives.

Adric of Jerasenn accompanied the party to Falmirin, and from there to the city that had been, so long ago, his home.  There, in Jerasenn, the clerics of Arteneh, and those of Jenorak, did work together to make three things from the metal of the sky-stone.

They made a long sword, given into the care of the Temple of Arteneh, and used for centuries by the clerics of that God, to drive back the darkness that occasionally threatened the lands.  Always they were aided by the Priests of Jenorak, wielding the battleaxe that was made for that God’s Temple.

But the first item made from the metal of the sky-stone was no weapon.

It was a harp, of exceeding beauty, and marvelous tone, and it was given to the Temple of Bragala, in thanks for the efforts of one sad follower of that God, to preserve the sky-stone, and aid the Gods of Good in protecting the peoples of Agatsin.

And the first song ever played on that harp, played by Adric of Jerasenn, who had written it, was the story of the Penitent, and her final acts of selfless heroism – and called, simply enough, Naliara’s Lesson.

Not the End!

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