Sitting there in the inn, surrounded by friends, warmth, and laughter, Elaethyia tried to relax, knew she should relax, but she couldn't stop thinking about the siege. Each day that took her farther from the doomed elven city added to her feeling of disloyalty; she still felt it would have been proper to join them, even if only to share in their death. As her mind wandered down these haunting paths, her heart ached and tears threatened to break her composure. Perhaps sensing Ella's dark thoughts, Jaerre leaned over and nudged her in the ribs. The familiar gesture was both comforting and startling; such an action would have been unthinkable at home.

"Don't be so gloomy." Jaerre hissed beneath the sounds of revelry. Unlike Ella, Jaerre was enjoying the inn. She felt at ease in the warm room, surrounded by the babble of human voices. Ella remembered distantly that Jaerre had always been carefree and would never say no to a hearty celebration. But she also knew that Jaerre took her position seriously; if there really was any threat, Ella trusted in Jaerre to be aware of it.

"I am sorry. I just feel . . ."

"Like there is something you should have done?" Jaerre interrupted-yet another incongruence-"Well, don't." She snapped. "We probably wouldn't have even made it through the siege to the city. They would have caught us in the first ten steps."

Ella had to admit Jaerre had a point there-no matter how she disliked it. She subsided into silence and let the music wash over her, soothing her tired nerves. Jaerre took her silence as assent and turned her attention back to the rest of their traveling companions. Yoseph, the male priest traveling with them, was relating some harrowing tale of his youth. His wild tales always made Jaerre laugh, and even Ella usually conceded a smile to the handsome (for a human) man.

A bard was singing and playing a harp up on the stage. He appeared quite young to Ella's eyes, but she had trouble guessing human ages. His fingers were sure and dexterous as they plucked, pulled, and danced on the strings of his harp. Although his music was nothing compared to that of her own people, Ella found it grated on her nerves less so than most human music. His voice was not as rough as she found most human voices to be-his voice had a clear sweetness to it that appealed to her elvish ears. Occasionally she picked up an elvish word or two, but they never seemed to match the rest of the song. The minstrel probably no more knew their meaning than his audience-the words were only meant to make his music seem exotic. The elvish words made her strain to hear more-an effort that tired her.

Ella was startled to realize how secure she felt here. It was not only Jaerre's confidence, althought it helped, but the atmosphere of the place itself. The town was relatively small and out of the way; it was the kind of place where strangers would be noticed and remarked upon. Careful inquiry at the town's gates had suggested no one had passed through recently-certainly no Illitherian traitors. Her fingers curled instinctively around her goblet as the familiar hatred rose in the back of her throat. The taste of it was bitter and she fought it down. She reminded herself that not all of them were traitors. She summoned the vision of her beloved Nana behind her eyes and it soothed her for a moment, until the picture turned hideous and bloody, as Nana's body was pierced by dozens of arrowbolts and her head hacked from her body. Ella banished the image and opened her eyes, filling her vision with the sea of humanity in the inn.

She let her eyes rove over her three priestly companions, finding comfort in their familiar, pleasant faces. Ella noticed, in a detached sort of way, that she was getting better at appreciating human beauty. Part of her thought that was a bad sign. The eldest of the three priests-Mistress Laree-smiled easily and every movement spoke of grace and charm. She did not, of course, quite have the grace of even the clumsiest elf (well, maybe the clumsiest, but certainly only barely equal, there). Mistress Laree exuded confidence and wit; except for her unfortunate fullness of body, Ella considered her quite beautiful-very attractive for a human. She was certainly favored by Sune, that much was obvious.

The other two-one male and one female-were lower ranked than Mistress Laree, but were still not mere novices in the church like herself. Truthfully, she was surprised anyone believed they were on a holy pilgrimage. Usually a Heartwarder traveled with several novice members of the church-to have one Heartwarder and two priests accompany a novice was unusual, to say the least. Still, it was possible the commoners didn't know much about the church hierarchy. Could they not tell the difference between them all?

A laugh cut off abruptly by violent fit of coughing interrupted Ella's wandering thoughts. She half-turned towards the noise. It was Jaerre. Ella put out a concerned hand to touch her companion's shoulder. She's drunk something the wrong way, she thought with a smile playing at her lips. The smile died on her lips as soon as her hand made contact with the other elf. She sensed something was wrong. Very wrong.

Mistress Laree must have also sensed it, because she was up in a flash and came around the table to kneel beside Jaerre. She prayed and Ella's ears strained to hear the words over the noise and the coughing. All she was certain of, however, was that there was a definitely unhealthy gurgle beneath the cough. Mistress Laree's hands glowed faintly red as she touched Jaerre, but it had no effect.

Without further warning, Jaerre's chest exploded outward, spraying Ella and the Heartwarder with blood and gore, fragments of bone and pieces of flesh. Ella stared in shocked silence, and her mind wondered, perhaps a little hysterically, if she would wake up soon. Jaerre dead? It couldn't be. They had already survived so much together. She couldn't begin to imagine surviving alone. Jaerre, always strong, always ready to fight, ready to defend her companion. Ella's mind simply could not believe Jaerre was dead. If it weren't a dream, it was an illusion, a hallucination. Was she crazy? She'd rather be crazy. It couldn't be Jaerre. It was someone else.

Ella didn't realize how silent the room had become until a hateful chuckle broke into her tumbling thoughts from behind. In one fluid movement, Ella stood and turned to face the source of the laugh. She was almost a little glad for a reason not to stare at ... at that body anymore. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the heart gripped in the hand of their tormenter. The heart-"Jaerre's?" a voice whispered weakly. Ella's own?-beat twice, slowly, and stopped. Blood dripped from the woman's hand and flowed down her arm in dark rivulets.

Ella's vision expanded out from the heart-she simply could not think it Jaerre's-clutched in the Illitherian's hand. She took in the cruel expression, the foul aura, and the snake-headed whip all at once. The feel of her power-dark and terrible-crept over Ella's skin and made her itch to get out of it. She wasn't sure it was the room or simply her own flesh she wanted to crawl out of. This priestess's aura made her feel dirty. She felt infected by the woman's foulness.

Markus, the other fighter, got to his feet and pulled out his sword, clearly intending to gut the dark cleric. He never stood a chance, because he was suddenly surrounded not by friendly townsfolk, but deadly Illitherians. Their human guises melted away, all at once, leaving behind vengeful elves. They cut him down without hesitating; it was butchery. There were Illitherians all over the inn now. They were blocking all the doors, and even the windows. They didn't want Ella to escape again.

Mistress Laree chanted and flung a spell at the nearest window. It exploded outwards with a shower of glass, taking the two nearest Illitherians out in the process.

"Run." She commanded Ella as she turned to face Lloth's foul priestess. The word snapped Ella out of her daze. It was a word so often heard and obeyed that she reacted mostly by instinct. Ignoring the pain and suffering of those she would leave behind-was this not a familiar story?-the young elf sprinted towards the open window and leapt out with three Illitherians in swift pursuit.

Somehow Ella managed to keep her balance as she hurtled through the window, and she hit the ground running. She was soon faced with another problem. Arrayed directly in front of her was a group of unfamiliar people-clearly fighters and adventurers. None of them looked like Illitherians, but neither had the humans at the inn. They did look as surprised to see her as she felt.

Nevertheless, she hesitated, and it cost her. In the split second it took her to decide whether to go through them or around them, her pursuers caught up to her. They surrounded her and one made as if to grab her. At the same time, one of the Illitherians turned to the strangers.

"This woman is ours. Do not interfere and you will not be harmed." This statement was so closely followed by a hail of crossbow bolts from the side streets that Ella doubted the strange group of adventurers believed the promise. She felt a giggle bubble up inside her-hysterical-but she fought it down. Hysteria wouldn't help her survive. Distracted by her internal struggle, she didn't see if anyone was hurt. It was all happening so fast now.

There was a battle cry and something small-a halfling with an ax?-charged at one of her would-be captors. There was also barking and more movement behind her. Somehow Ella had gotten turned around, with her back to the newcomers and the two Illitherians they were attacking. She had the vague impression that the bolts were coming from somewhere to her right, but she could not see those attackers. There was one single Illitherian in front of her. Ella wanted to keep running, but she was hemmed in by the battle, the crossbowmen, and a single Illitherian. The familiar bitterness rose up again and the perfect spell whispered itself in her ear. She would hold him in place-and what? Kill him, slowly, or watch the others kill him. Run, another whisper reminded her.

No matter. She would cast the spell, then decide. However, the issue never came up-something happened as she prepared to call the spell. Instead of the Illitherian, Ella saw Jaerre-no, not Jaerre, her mind still wanted to deny it-with her ruined chest, the gaping hole lunging forward as if to engulf her, too. She lost her concentration and nearly fell. Her knees were weak. All she could see was a haze of red, decorated by exploding black stars. When her vision finally cleared, the Illitherian was lying dead at her feet with an arrow through his throat. She hadn't done that. Had she? No.

Ella turned back towards the fighting to see a large man with a very large sword charging into the fray. "You are safe now, milady," he said casually before he turned his charge into a sweeping arc that nearly cut the other Illitherian in two. The unfortunate Illitherian might have survived being nearly cut in two, but the cleave of the one man was so swiftly followed by the sound of an axe splitting the open skull of the overwhelmed Illitherian, that it became a merely academic question. The sound of the new man's voice reminded her that he had spoken earlier, though she had hardly registered it, in her panic. He had promised protection, she remembered. She thought he had invoked the name of the Lady Firehair, too. How had he recognized her vestments under the blood?

blood?

Not blood. Something else.

She would have thanked the man, but she heard movement behind her as more Illitherians poured out of the inn. The odds seemed overwhelming, even with such unexpected help. Another volley of crossbow bolts flew into the fray, as if to punctuate how much danger she was in. She ran blindly, with no destination in mind, no thought but of getting away. The man's voice cut through her panic just as she reached the edge of a building.

"Don't run too far! They'll only chase you and we don't want to chase them all over."

Ella felt herself responding to the command implicit in his voice, against her sense of self preservation. She stopped, and turned to look over her unexpected saviors. This time a sort of gratitude-unexpected affection-filled her heart. She couldn't just leave these people to die to her enemies. Thinking was hard, but she finally thought up a way to help them. She caressed the gold and garnet locket on her neck and prayed for the Lady Goldheart's protection for them all. The fresh scent of flowers filled the air and Ella knew her prayer had been answered.

She felt weak and tired-a little dazed-and she had a sudden desire to sink to the ground right where she stood and sleep. She didn't want this hard, cruel life. She should be at home, rocked to sleep by one of Nana's lullabies, not running around some dirty human town covered in blood-

blood?

Her mind shied away from the thought.

water, then?

But it wasn't raining.

There were more sounds of battle. The man's voice rang out again, strong and protective. It was the kind of voice that was supposed to make friends feel safe and enemies feel afraid. The sounds of battle ceased and a sort of peace settled over Ella. The large man approached cautiously, careful not to threaten her (although he still had his sword out, he did not look about to use it on her). She watched him, but concentrated mostly on holding up her corner of the building. It suddenly seemed very important to hold it up.

"Hello." He said without preamble. "Who might you be?"

She stared, trying to measure him. She noticed a symbol of Elhonna around his neck and some detached, still functioning part of her mind noted his sword looked like that of a paladin's. She relaxed minutely. Surely the Illitherians would not risk angering the gods by falsely taking up their symbols.

"Are you okay?" He asked, probably wondering why she was taking so long to respond. He also could not miss that she was covered in blood and little lumpy things that might have been someone's flesh.

"I'm fine." Ella managed to stutter. Nevertheless, he summoned one of his companions, who checked and confirmed. Ella was not hurt. Ella was relieved to hear it.

"My name is Ella. Call me Ella." She finally managed to answer his first question.

He introduced himself as well as the woman who had pronounced Ella unhurt. The words didn't register. They slid in and out of her head like snakes.

Snakes reminded her of the whip. She sagged against the wall.

"Why were they after you?" The man asked. Ella noticed his sword was in his sheath, but she didn't remember him doing it.

"I.. uh.. I do not.. do not know.." Suddenly Ella did not want to talk about it-she did not want to think of it. Her mind shied away and pulled up a blanket of forgetfulness, like a child who hides under the covers because the monsters cannot get her under there. She wanted to be safe from the monsters. The monsters had snakes, something inside her whimpered. Could snakes sneak under the covers? She shoved the thought away.

There was more talk-more questions. She thought she answered, but her mind seemed detached from her words. Vague answers. Every word stumbled over the one before it and tripped over the one to follow.

Then someone mentioned the inn.

"No. no. Don't go there. Evil. It isn't safe. Not safe here. We should go. Now." Ella didn't want to remember what the inn held for her, but she knew it was foul and terrible. She didn't want to feel it crawling on her skin again, looking for a way inside-for a hole into her soul. It would slither inside, and she did not know how to stop it.

"Why?" the man asked. Some others headed to the inn. She tried to call out-to warn-but she couldn't get the words out fast enough. They all tumbled together and came out as gibberish instead. She was powerless to stop them. She was certain they would be dead.

"Foul," she repeated, "it's foul."