***
Milo said a show was about to start, but Terredor didn’t realized the performer was none other than Sendralya until she walked on, with a smile aimed directly at him. Her hair was a different color now, a rich umber tinged with highlights of brilliant crimson that flared like blazing coals in the flickering torchlight of the restaurant. Her skin was like melted cotton, her body thick and curving, and her voice rang with dulcet tones that encompassed all the harmony of an orchestra of bells. The entire restaurant fell silent, as the patrons watched and listened in rapt attention to her song.
She sang about a proud hero whose powerful swordarm saved a beautiful maiden. Terredor couldn’t turn his eyes away, not that he tried; his latest drink, a shot of aged beet liquor known as verimi sat untouched on the bar. His heart swelled, and he felt pangs of desire and love in his heart.
Sendralya finished her song and strode offstage to enthusiastic applause. Terredor returned to the drink in front of him, his head swimming from the alcohol.
“Hello,” she said, and though Terredor could not see her behind him, he knew that no one save the beautiful Sendralya could have a voice as smooth and sweet as flowing honey. He turned to face her.
“We don’t see many local men in here,” she said, “Nor many Modrobenian’s assistants.”
Terredor’s tongue was too big for his mouth, his mind racing, but he choked out, “H-Hello.”
She said, “It’s wonderful to see thee again, Terredor. I trust Milo is treating thee well.”
“I did not know thou wast Mortiss Waimbrill’s lad,” Milo said, “He is a wise and gentle man. Hath he received word of his five year assignment? I believe it hath been that long since he first cleaveth in Crikland.”
“Aye,” he said, “He has been assigned here again.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Sendralya said, “He is such a lovely man. And Shezanne will be pleased as well.”
Terredor said, his words now slightly slurred from the alcohol, “I would be glad if he is never assigned anywhere else. He is a part of Crikland, as much as this resort, or the lake itself. But he is angry with his church, and wishes he could leave this land and never return.”
Sendralya danced her soft fingertips across his shoulders, then said, “I am sorry for Mortiss Waimbrill that he hath not received his choice of assignments. But I am glad that this presumably means thou hast no intention of leaving Crikland, which means thou and I might continue to see each other.”
Terredor blushed under the kind but intense stare of Sendralya. He stammered, “We are g-going to investigate Petromyza.”
“The monster of the Deepdark?” Sendralya said, then seeing Terredor’s blank stare, explained, “Lake Crikmere is home to a mysterious underground cave system. It is called the Deepdark, and I know little about it aside from the story of its creation during a battle between Petromyza and the hero Hapcort. She flew across the world then, raining death on distant lands, and swallowing her victims whole, threatening to attack with an army of undead if those whom she wished to control did not do her bidding. In this way she had kings and empires supplying her with treasure, slaves and souls to devour. He created a spell, a long chant, that limited her to occasional unfocused depravations, turning her into little more than a dull beast. It is said that she needs to swallow one thousand and one uncleaved Mortiss in order to regain her intellect.”
“Hapcort?” Terredor said, “He is a hero among my people.”
“Prepare yourself well,” Milo said, shaking his head, “I would come with you were I twenty years younger.”
“I will worry for your safety, and will pray for all the gods I know to protect you. And I should like to give thee a gift,” she said, producing an object from a hidden pocket in her gauzy crimson dress. It was a cube, made of white metal carved into thin lacy arcs and whorls. Inside the box, one face of which was hinged, was a tiny glowing dot of green. She handed the box to him, and he felt its surprising weight and the warmth emanating from it.
“I produce these as part of my business here,” she said, “It is a cantallion. It storeth my song, that my audiences can hear me even when I am far away. I give you one because I fear thou goest to a dark and silent place where thou wilt be alone among all manner of monsters and villains, somewhere so deep my voice can not reach. Use it wisely, gentle Terredor, to calm the bones and quiet the cries of scoundrels and fiends, or friends and allies, and know that thy pretty human eyes shall haunt my dreams the entire time thou art away. But now I must prepare for my next show. I do hope I will see thee again, and Mortiss Waimbrill as well.”
Then she left, and Terredor watched every step until she disappeared backstage. He turned to the shot of verimi in front of him. He swallowed it, coughing in pain and grimacing at its burning astringency. It didn’t taste of beets at all, he thought.
Later, Terredor stumbled out of the restaurant, his head swimming, his world spinning. He leaned against a wall to regain his balance. Her lilting, harmonic voice still echoed in his ear, radiating inner calm and peace. For as long as he stood there with her words haunting his mind, he forgot about Waimbrill leaving, about his fear for his future, his worries about their current quest and his own inadequacies. He remembered what she had told him, that her song was powerful draconic magic, and could have a deep and abiding impact on its listeners.
His reverie was interrupted by Waimbrill, who returned with information from Egglebrod. He had given a story similar to the one Sendralya told, but Terredor barely listened, so enraptured was he with the fresh memory of the beauteous singer. When he told Waimbrill about it, the older Mortiss fell quiet.
“Why didn’t you tell her how you felt?” Waimbrill asked, subtle smile twitching.
“I… I don’t know. I couldn’t think of anything to say in front of her. She was beautiful.”
“So,” Waimbrill said, “I’m a hero, and I’m supposed to be brave enough to go kill a monster, but you are too scared even to talk to a woman?”
“I have decided I wish to become a Soulclaine like you. I will not have time for a woman.”
“What’s this? You wish to be Mortiss?”
Terredor shuffled his feet. “What else can I do? I’m an outsider to the Delvers, and to everyone else, I’m a Delver.”
“It is a difficult path, Terredor. Don’t make a decision you will later regret.”
“I won’t. It is of no matter, right now,” Terredor said, “Let us go to Lake Crikmere and begin the journey.”
Waimbrill said. “Terredor…”
“I know what you will say. You do not want me coming with you. Well, you are going to have to deal with me a little longer.”
“This will be dangerous,” Waimbrill said, “And your vision said that I would be a hero. Not you.”
“Velteris didn’t say I should stay home. You can’t just take me in and then kick me out whenever it’s convenient.”
Waimbrill said, “That’s not what I’m doing, Terredor. I’m trying to protect you. I was trying to protect you then, from Lord Porthos. But you are a young man. You will need to strike out on your own soon enough.”
“Fine, but not yet, Mortiss Waimbrill,” Terredor said, “Please? I don’t care how dangerous this is. Let’s do this together. You don’t really want to go down there alone, do you? Well, I don’t want to stay up here alone. So let us risk loneliness together.”