Vhok couldn't stand the pain any more. He relieved the pressure on his arms by levitating his weight and grunted in relief. His ankles still ached, but he no longer felt as though he would be pulled in half. He cursed softly and heard the echo of his own voice within the shaft.
The half-fiend dangled in what he imagined was the inside of a tower or perhaps a round pit in the ground. Chains connected to shackles on his wrists rose into the darkness overhead, holding him in place. More chains on his ankles anchored a great weight hanging somewhere below him. Every shift, every tiny movement sent him swaying. When he held very still, faint howls or screams sometimes reached his ears, deeply muffled.
He had no idea where he was, or how long he had been there.
The ability to hold himself aloft with magic was his only saving grace. Without that, he would have already succumbed to the terrible strain. He certainly would have been screaming by then. His arms might even have been wrenched from their sockets.
Hot vapors wafted up from below, carrying an acrid odor that burned his nostrils and throat. Even with his natural affinity for heat, the air scorched. Sweat drenched him, ran down his naked skin in rivulets that tickled him maddeningly. The fight to resist twitching wore on him. The longer he remained still, the worse the tickling became, yet every time he flinched, trying to shake the trickles free, stabs of pain filled every strained joint.
Vhok cursed Aliisza for the hundredth time. He saw her face, that cunning, clever smile, mocking him, and he screamed insults at her. Somehow, she had found the strength to escape. He had underestimated her, perhaps. Though he was angry with himself for it, she still bore the brunt of his rage.
No, he realized. Zasian. Somehow, they must have coaxed the priest into healing her.
You cursed, guileful wench, he fumed. I should have killed you when you were down. You're too clever by half, always using those supple curves and that sultry smile to twist men's hearts. Tauran will get what he deserves. His pain will come, when you turn on him as you turned on me. I am a fool for ever having loved you.
The chance had been there to take her life, but he knew he had let his own fondness for her, his weakness, get the better of him. He had also made the mistake of playing his hand too early, revealing his intentions. That had been foolish; it would have been better to lie to them, tell them that he was off to seek help and then return with enough demons to corral the group. It had just felt too damned good to finally, finally be free of that awful, wretched compulsion.
Besides, it's still ultimately her fault, he reasoned. She was the one who changed, let her human side grow too dominant, allowed herself to develop weak, caring feelings. She is the traitor, guilty ten times over, and I hate her.
The rock that lined the shaft was not natural stone, as he had seen within Vhissilka's cave complex before. No, it had been built, crafted from great worked blocks, which was why he imagined he might be in a tower. He was in another's domain, but he did not remember arriving there. He simply woke from unconsciousness to find himself strung up like a piece of smoked meat, awaiting carving.
He had been fighting the cruel torture for time immemorial, it seemed. He alternated between countering his own weight in order to relieve the stress on his arms and supporting the weight below him to alleviate the punishment to his ankles. Sometimes, in between, when his magic gave out, he had to endure the full brunt of the torture.
At those times, it was all he could do not to scream.
I won't give them the satisfaction, he told himself. I'll let them pull me apart before I whimper like a child. And when I rip in half, I will find a way to return from the grave and track down that alu. Aliisza will regret her audacity. So help me, she will.
Vhok's mind drifted off into some pain-filled haze, so it was a moment before he realized that something had changed. Light shone down from above. Fiery red light. Flame.
He tried to peer up, but the glow was too bright, and he winced and blinked.
Vhok felt himself rise. He was being pulled up, and the chains jerked and bounced as whatever mechanism that controlled his ascent ratcheted. The jarring tugs sent new pain through him. For a moment, he truly did fear he might rip in half.
He ascended from the shaft into a dimly lit room-though it was more than bright enough for his light-starved eyes-dangling from a wooden derrick. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust. He felt motion, sensed someone attaching something to the chains on his legs. Then there was blessed relief as the weight came off. He could not help the groan that escaped his lips.
The derrick swung wide of the pit. Vhok's arms were freed, and he fell to the stone floor like a rag doll. He lay there for long moments, writhing from the pins and needles in his joints as his blood flow returned. Screams echoed in the chamber. Some were still muffled, as though buried, but others were loud, harsh, as though someone very near him suffered immeasurably.
A wet splat accompanied an object tossed near his face. When he managed to focus his gaze, he saw a waterskin, though of what kind of skin, he did not want to speculate. He reached for the container and uncapped it. He drank greedily, letting the water spill down his chin. Before he had even half sated himself, the skin was taken from him and his own clothes were tossed down at his feet.
"Get up," a harsh voice commanded. "Dress yourself. Lord Axithar wishes to speak with you."
Vhok fumbled to put the clothes on, wondering who-or what-Lord Axithar was. They didn't return everything. Only his breeches, shirt, and boots. His armor, cape, and his equipment remained missing.
By the time Vhok was dressed and upright, his vision had returned to normal. He surveyed his surroundings.
One of the ram-headed demons watched over him, though Vhok was unsure if he had met this one before. The beast twirled its oversized spear-headed ranseur, waiting for him to finish. Other figures moved in the dimness of the chamber. He glanced at them and saw that he stood in the middle of a chamber of torture, built of the same stone blocks that had formed his pit-and that was, indeed, where he had been-and the cambion got the sense that he was in the bowels of some great fortress.
A bariaur thrashed within an iron frame nearby, its horned head and fists pinned within one set of stocks, all four of its hoofed feet similarly trapped at floor level. A group of demons, small imps with gray skin and oversized ears, poked and prodded the thing with sharpened iron rods. Dozens of trickles of blood seeped from puncture wounds, and the creature howled in anguish.
Against the closest wall, two dwarves with filth-matted dark hair crouched in cages too small for them. The first prison dangled from a length of chain perhaps two feet above a fire pit filled with glowing coals. The dwarf within panted as he pushed against the wall with his hands, trying to keep himself swaying and not lingering over the searing heat. The second one had his arms thrust through the top, clinging to the iron ring set into the stone ceiling where the chain was attached. He held both his own weight and that of the cage, which rested upon his stout shoulders, up away from a bed of coals. His arms shook from the strain of keeping himself aloft.
"Kill me," the one in the lower cage pleaded. "For the love of Moradin, do not let them roast me!"
Vhok smirked. He spied the waterskin clutched in his guard's free hand.
"May I?" he asked, pointing to the drink.
The demon grimaced but tossed Vhok the skin. The cambion made a show of uncapping the container and tipping his head back, letting the water pour into his mouth. A bit of it trickled down his chin. He swallowed and smiled at the dwarf. "You wouldn't happen to be from Sundabar, would you?" he asked.
The prisoner gaped at Vhok wide-eyed, forgetting for a moment to keep his swinging motion up. His blistered feet and buttocks began to smoke. He screamed in agony and fumbled to get himself moving again. In his panic, he could not get a good rhythm going, and his screaming increased.
The ram-demon yanked the empty waterskin out of Vhok's hands, turned, and led him out of the small room. "Come," it grumbled.
They ascended a large stone staircase, leaving behind the anguished cries of the prisoners. The ram-headed fiend led Vhok through a stout iron door and into a hall. The gloomy, smoke-filled passage led to another staircase, and then another. They climbed up and up, passing other demons along the way, some of them the lowly craven dretches that served as the bulk of the abyssal forces, others loftier, more cunning species. At one point, they passed three mariliths going the opposite direction, but none were Vhissilka.
The pair passed through another, larger door. A howling wind assaulted them, a hot, fetid gale that lashed at Vhok's clothes and hair. It carried upon it the stink of sulfur and death. A gray sky roiled above, and Vhok could not tell whether it was filled with low-hanging clouds or heavy black smoke. The underside of the seething haze glowed red-orange in places, and once, Vhok spotted a winged creature in silhouette against the burning light.
He and his guard came to a large balcony. The platform, made of lustrous black stone, clung to the side of a lofty tower. A narrow, arched walkway led from it to a similar porch ahead. Both spires rose from a massive sprawling castle, all of it constructed from the same glossy stone. The two crossed, and Vhok peered over the wall to the ground below.
The land, a broken surface of jutting, jagged rock interspersed with thick, thorny brambles and fields of gravel, was crisscrossed with deep crevasses. Orange light flared from within those trenches, and smoke poured from them, whisked away by the wind. In the flat spaces between the shards of protruding glasslike stone, swarms of creatures moved, shuffling together into groups. Larger demons herded the smaller ones, often with a slash of whip or weapon.
An army was assembling. A massive one. Vhok could see it happening as far as his vision would take him.
"Where are we?" he said to his escort. "Is this the Abyss?"
The ram-headed guard cast a glance back at Vhok and smirked. "Shut up and keep walking, cambion."
They reached the far side of the causeway and passed through another door. Once in the interior again, the roar of the wind vanished. Vhok's guard led him down one last, grand hallway. Prisoners lined it, creatures from every corner of the world and perhaps beyond. Each had been positioned within an alcove, impaled upon a slender shaft from back to front and angled slightly upward, so that the spike held the being aloft in a roughly standing position. Some dangled motionless, perhaps already dead, but others still squirmed and cried out for succor. None could slip free of their confinements.
Better them than me, Vhok thought. Unless…
A moment of panic passed through the cambion, and he was on the verge of turning and dashing away, back to the balcony outside, when the guard turned and faced a massive door of black. The guard pushed the portal open and led Vhok into a chamber that glowed with the fires of a dozen braziers. A roiling pit of magma bubbled in the center. Numerous other creatures moved through the large room, perhaps attending to some important business or other, but Vhok hardly noticed them. All of his attention was drawn to the lone, towering figure near the pit.
A great horned demon with a ferocious, almost bestial face and terrible gaze stood there, its black, batlike wings spread wide. Flames licked up and down its red skin and its fingers clutched a massive sword with a glowing, fiery blade. In its other hand, the towering demon idly flicked a whip that had tongues of flame snaking along it.
A balor.
Consciousness returned to Kael. The faint tinkling of water splashed somewhere nearby. Confusion and disconcerting fear hit him as he opened his eyes. He did not remember where he was or how he had come to be there. Drawing on his military training, he took a deep, calming breath and examined his surroundings.
He lay upon a soft bed in a room filled with the faint glow of moonlight. He rose up on one elbow and saw that the pale lambency entered through a gauze-veiled archway.
It gleamed on white marble, casting a cool gray hue on the whole chamber. A writing desk sat against one wall along with a small shelf of books. On the near wall a sunken basin big enough to bathe within brimmed with water, and the bright sound of splashing he had first discerned came from there, where a steady stream poured from a fountain set into the wall. On the opposite end from the archway stood a darkened doorway.
We're home, he thought, letting his guard down at last. Then he grimaced. Tauran is safe, but we are at the mercy of the High Council. I hope it was worth it.
Kael sat up and stretched. He expected muscles to complain because of too many nights spent sleeping on hard stone in cold places, but he found that he felt fresh. He shook free of the covers and stood. He was naked, and he took a moment to examine his dark skin, seeking signs of injuries or poorly healed wounds or scars. In wonderment, he found none at all.
Am I dreaming? he thought. Are we truly home?
Yes, he thought. I remember the journey too clearly. The memory of surrendering, followed by the indignity of Garin and Nilsa binding all of them to comply before bringing them to the High Council chambers still left a bitter taste in his mouth. It had happened.
But then, what is this place?
His armor rested upon a stand at the foot of the bed, each piece laid carefully there, polished and gleaming in the lunar light, with fresh bindings, straps, and ties replacing old, worn ones. His greatsword stood there as well, oiled and sharpened.
They left me my weapons? Why would they trust me with them now, after…?
Nothing made sense anymore.
Kael turned to the archway and padded across the room. He pushed through the flimsy curtains and found himself standing upon a small balcony. The moon, hanging low in the sky, was round and pearly. Its glow illuminated the slopes of great Celestia, along with the clouds that ringed its hidden crown.
It is definitely the Court, Kael thought. But it all feels too… peaceful.
That thought surprised Kael. It wasn't that long ago that he could not have imagined expecting more tumult within the House.
But much has happened since those more carefree times, he mused. Everything was… chaos when we returned. No High Council, and Garin and Nilsa behaving so oddly. Struggling to make decisions, as if they weren't quite sure. And then nothing. He could remember nothing after arriving.
What did they do with me? With the others? Is Tauran alive?
Kael turned, walked back into the room, and passed beyond the darkened doorway into the interior area. He saw a cozy divan and more shelves filled with books. A plush rug had been tossed casually across the floor, and dark tendrils draped from bowls became potted plants and ferns when he stared at them fully. A door-shut tight-stood within the wall opposite where he had entered.
Kael crossed the rug and pulled the portal open a tiny bit, peering out. He saw a hall softly illuminated by round globes, glowing a warm, yellow-orange color, spaced periodically down its length. He spotted no one else, nor did he hear any other sounds.
I must be dreaming, he thought. This definitely looks like the Court, but where is everyone?
Shaking his head, not sure what to make of his own solitude, Kael turned back inside and went to his armor. He donned his clothing and took up his sword. He cast one last look around the room and, satisfied that he was leaving nothing behind, the knight headed out into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him.
In one direction, the passage simply led to more doors like his own, and then it ended at a window. In the other, he could hear a faint breeze stirring wind chimes around a corner. He headed that direction.
He found a courtyard at the end of the hall, a pleasant, inviting place filled with meandering paths, cozy benches, and carefully cultured vegetation. He noted the trees in particular, the leaves of which captured the light of the moon and reflected it.
Or perhaps they glow from within, Kael mused.
The wind chimes he had heard hung from the branches, and the breezes that blew through the leaves carried the fragrance of blossoms. Near the center of the open area, Kael spied a shallow pool. In the midpoint, a statue of an angel rose up, wings spread wide, paying homage to the heavens overhead.
I know this place, Kael realized, moving to stand beside the pool. I have been here before, on a night just like this. Tauran brought me here. To meet my mother. Tauran said I should give her a chance, but I wasn't interested. I did not know her then. How strange that I would end up back here now, wishing to spend a moment longer with her.
Kael gazed down into the water and caught the reflection of overhanging branches in its gently rippling surface. Memories of the strange, disorienting encounter, when Aliisza had changed places with him, stolen his body, and escaped, came flooding back into his mind. He remembered waiting in the shadows, listening to her reveal her fears and doubts.
Kael turned to look in that same spot.
A figure sat there, cloaked in those same shadows, watching him. "It's not real, you know," his mother said.
Kael smiled. Aliisza rose, stepped out from the gloom, and crossed the grass to stand before him. She took both his hands in her own and peered into his eyes.
"It's all just an illusion," she said, her smile sad.
Kael tilted his head to one side, puzzled.
"This," Aliisza said, gesturing around them. "The garden, the Court, all of it. We're not really here."
Kael frowned. "Somehow, I already knew that. But what is it, then? And if it's not real, then am I really talking to you?"
Aliisza's smile widened the tiniest bit. "I would ask the same thing, but for some reason, I know we're both really here."
Kael nodded, but her explanation didn't make him feel any better. "What is this place?" he asked.
She dropped his hands and strolled toward a bench. She took a seat on it and tilted her head to one side as she stared up at her son. Her eyes were intense, watching him. "This was my prison," she said quietly, "when I first came here."
"Ah, yes," Kael said, remembering hearing descriptions of the mirror-place whenever he asked about his mother. "Tauran spoke of it when I was young. They said you were happy here."
Aliisza snorted. "They lied." She peered into Kael's eyes again, and the sensation it created, as if she were trying to see deep inside him, was growing unnerving. "Most of the time, I didn't even realize I was here. I was trapped in fictions, forced to learn about the more caring, considerate side of myself."
"You sound wounded," Kael said, turning to sit beside her so that she would stop staring at his face so intently. "Like you still resent it."
Beside him, his mother shrugged. "I do," she said. "Tauran was doing what he thought was right. But the decisions the angels make are every bit as conniving and selfish as any demon's choices. They just cloak it in words like 'honor' and 'justice,' and they codify the machinations into a set of laws so that everyone gets manipulated evenly. Then they can point to it and say, 'See? Were in the right because it's all equal; everyone has to abide by the same rules.' "
Kael frowned. "And that's not good enough? Do the laws not treat everyone fairly?"
Aliisza shook her head. "That's not the point." She turned to face him. "Do you think we did the right thing, surrendering to Garin and Nilsa so they would bring Tauran back? To save his life, did we do what had to be done?"
Kael cocked his head to one side. "I don't know."
"Why do you doubt it?"
He sighed. "Because it felt wrong. Because it felt like we should fight harder to prove that we were right." He clenched his fists in anger. "Because Garin and Nilsa infuriated me with their absolutism."
"I think there's another reason," Aliisza said. "When it came time to free Kaanyr, Tauran claimed he couldn't break his word. Even though it probably meant the death of us all, he wouldn't do it."
"It was the just, honorable thing to do," Kael said, feeling a bit indignant. "He gave his word."
"You argued with him at the time," Aliisza pointed out. "So did I."
Kael nodded. The guilt of his lapse made him stare at his hands again in shame. "That was wrong of me," he said. "It was a moment of weakness."
"Nonsense," Aliisza said. "Tauran was willing to defy the High Council and his own god to go after Zasian. He was even willing to drag you along with him, and you didn't protest then. You went along with it, because you knew it was right. So what was different about freeing Kaanyr?"
Kael shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know what's right or wrong anymore."
"The reason we both became so upset with him is because we could see what he was really doing. He was giving up."
Kael cringed at his mother's words. "Don't," he pleaded. But he knew she was right.
"Look at me," Aliisza said. "He was ready to die. He had accepted it, even remarked that death would have been preferable to… what else he faced. He freed Kaanyr because he had accepted his fate."
"And we weren't ready for that," Kael said, understanding at last. "We wanted him to keep on fighting, so we could return and see his honor restored."
"Yes," Aliisza said. "He was trying to set us free. I even think, in a strange, weird way, he wanted you to see, one last time, the folly of slavishly adhering to the law. Releasing Kaanyr from the compulsion was the means to do both."
"But that put us in greater danger from Vhok. I don't think Tauran intended for that to happen."
"Neither do I. That was just a miscalculation on Tauran's part. I think he believed that Kaanyr would take me with him and flee, and then he would convince you to go, too. In his mind, getting left behind was a just end for his crimes against Tyr. I think that he at last had come to understand just how absolute his own self-destruction was and was trying to avoid reconciling it within himself."
Kael considered everything Aliisza said. It hurt to think that Tauran would do that, but he couldn't deny that he had sensed it in the angel, too. "So now you're asking me if we should have brought him back here," he asked, "when maybe he didn't want to return?"
"Something like that," Aliisza said, and she smiled faintly. "We didn't want for him what he wanted for himself. He perhaps didn't think he could face up to his own flaws. Did we do him any favors? I don't know. But I do know this. You asked me if the law didn't treat everyone fairly. I can't answer that, but I can say, having watched the toll it took on Tauran-and you-trying and failing to stay within the strictures of a set of laws, that nothing should dictate our lives in such an absolute way."
"Oh, well said," a voice from behind them said. "I couldn't agree more."
Kael rose to his feet with his blade free and spun to see who had intruded on his conversation with his mother. A drow stood there, a little way back, on a flagstone path. Even in the soft light of the moon, leaves, and faint globes, it wasn't hard for Kael to see his own features in the midnight face. His own garnet eyes stared back at him, surrounded by a tousled mane of white hair. The dark elf was slender of build, and his clothing bespoke wealth and perhaps even a little self-importance.
"Pharaun!" Aliisza said, rising and moving quickly toward the drow. "I wondered if you would show up."
Aliisza hugged the drow, then leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad you're here," she said.
"Yes, well," the drow answered, examining his own body as he spoke, "I have to tell you, I'm more than a little surprised myself. So much to figure out in such a short time. The matron mothers never even kept me guessing this much."
Aliisza tilted her head, considering. "I wonder, though, why we all managed to be here together. Maybe they wanted a chance for us to talk."
"More likely they want to listen in," Pharaun replied dryly. "See what we'll reveal."
"We've got nothing to hide," Aliisza said, sniffing.
"Speak for yourself," Pharaun answered with a wry chuckle. "I'd prefer that my life not be an open book for angels."
Kael found it hard to keep from squirming. That was his father standing there, his blood sire, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.
Tauran is my father, he told himself. He's the one who raised me.
"Well met, Kael," Pharaun said as Aliisza led him back over to the bench. Kael didn't say anything as the drow sized him up. "You are quite the impressive specimen, lad. I guess we can really cook, eh, Aliisza?"
Aliisza giggled, but there was a nervousness to it.
Kael scowled. "So, you're my father," he said at last, unsure how to proceed. A part of him was thankful for the chance to visit with the drow while not under constant duress, but having the opportunity suddenly didn't seem quite so… beneficial. "Not what I expected. Or imagined."
"I would hope not," Pharaun replied with a self-satisfied grin. "I doubt dear Aliisza here could really do me justice. Even for one as glib-tongued as she, it would be hard to truly explain a Master of Sorcere. You must actually meet one to understand. And now you have! Consider yourself fortunate. It is not every day one has the privilege of doing so."
Kael's frown turned into a smirk. "Was he always this vain?" he asked Aliisza, put off by the drow.
Aliisza laughed, and it was genuine. Pharaun, Kael noted, was decidedly less amused. "Actually, yes," she said. "He was. Is. But don't hold it against him, Kael. If you had ever seen Menzoberranzan or met a matron mother, you'd understand."
Pharaun turned to Aliisza, feigning a pout, and said, "Just what have you been teaching our son, you troublesome tart?" he asked. "Clearly not any of the important things, that's plain to see. And will someone please explain to me why he's dedicated his life to the likes of such a stuffy, overblown cad as Torm?"
Incensed, Kael took a step toward the drow, his grip on his sword tightening.
Pharaun, his eyebrows raised in surprise, retreated a step, his hand slipping inside his tunic.
"Stop it, both of you!" Aliisza said, stepping between the two and planting her hands against their chests.
Rage still burned within Kael at the insult, but he grudgingly relaxed, and when his counterpart did likewise, Aliisza sighed and dropped her hands.
"Men," she grumbled, returning to the bench. "Come, sit with me, both of you. I don't know how much time we have, and I don't want to waste it watching your egos clash."
Kael grimaced, but he took a seat next to his mother. Pharaun positioned himself on her other side. The three of them sat in silence, staring at the water before them.
Finally, Aliisza spoke again.
"I'm going to tell you both a story. Each of you has heard some of it before. Neither of you has heard it all. When I'm finished, maybe each of you'll understand the other a bit more." She paused, drew a deep breath, and began.
The alu spoke of her time in the deep halls far below the surface of Faerыn, when she and Vhok had been together. She told the tale of how she'd met Pharaun, and of following him through what seemed like the entirety of the Underdark.
"Why?" Kael asked at one point. He couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that the alu would care that much about the drow. What could she possibly see in him? he thought.
Aliisza shrugged. "He made me laugh," she said, as though hearing his thoughts. "He was witty, and when we were together, even though he knew I was fishing for knowledge, he didn't care." She sighed. "I think, looking back on it, that I liked the fact that he enjoyed my company so… honestly. I had never felt that from…" She trailed off, and there was a hint of wistfulness in her tone.
"Not even a little bit because I'm so irresistible?" Pharaun interjected. "You certainly seemed to act that way at the time."
Aliisza giggled, and she sounded like a giddy girl to Kael. He cringed. I don't want to know about that, he realized.
The alu continued, explaining all the way to how the two of them had wound up trapped within the dark recesses of a cave in a chunk of what had once been the Blood Rift. Her voice grew hoarse briefly as she spoke of Vhok's trickery and ultimate betrayal.
When she finished, the three of them sat quite still for a long time. "What a strange, mixed-up life this has become," she murmured. "How did things turn out so… convoluted?"
"Life just has a way of performing such tricks, Aliisza," Pharaun answered. "Whether because of the capriciousness of gods or the ambitions of others, you often find yourself tangled in a web of complicated design, wondering how you managed to get there. Look at me. I thought I was destined to rule Sorcere, but I wound up here, sitting in a make-believe enchanted garden, a prisoner of Tyr's servants, all because you decided to save my finger.
"Speaking of which," the drow said, changing the subject, "Just what do we expect to happen next? While this is a much improved prison compared to the one I enjoyed as a guest of the Spider Queen, I do not think they intend to leave us here. One of our captors made mention of a trial, I believe?"
"Yes," Aliisza said. "We will be called before the High Council, a collection of angels with Tyr's direct ear, to answer for our crimes."
"Oh, well, that shouldn't adversely affect me much," Pharaun said. "I have little to do with this whole affair."
The drow rose to his feet and looked at Kael. "I had what could perhaps be called a friend-if drow were inclined to consider such things-back in Menzoberranzan. A blade-master, one with his weapon and all that. You remind me a bit of Ryld. He saved my life a time or two, and I'm afraid I didn't always do my best to return the favor." Pharaun shrugged.
"Such is the way of my people, you see. But seeing as how you remind me of him, I'll perform the highly unusual act of honoring his memory by giving you some advice I probably should have passed on to him."
Kael wanted to chuckle. Advice from a father I hardly know? Should I be grateful?
Yet a part of him craved some deeper understanding of his sire. He wanted to see how much of himself might be hidden within the drow.
"Never get caught up too much in duty, honor, and sacrifice," Pharaun said. "Not because they're not worth it or because they leave you hollow and wanting in old age." He drew a deep breath. "No, it's because those things are inevitably tied to someone else's agenda, my dear boy. And by the time you discover their agenda and yours are no longer compatible, it's usually too late."
Kael considered the drow's words. "Are you speaking from experience?" he asked.
Pharaun chuckled. "Bright lad we've got there, Aliisza. Takes after his father." He turned to Kael. "You would think so, based on my sad tale, yes? But no, my woes came about purely because of my own selfish agenda. I got greedy. A far more laudable goal, in my esteemed opinion, but one equally as likely to get you into just as much trouble as duty, honor, and the rest."
Kael did smile, then.
"Listen, my boy," the drow said, drawing Kael out of his thoughts. "I can see you sitting there, trying to decide how much of me is in you, how much of your mother is tucked away in there, and how much of this angel, Tauran, who raised you, truly shaped you. Based on what I've heard tonight, my guess is, you're not certain how you will feel about the answer."
Kael gave the drow a steady look. "Very astute," he said, but inside, his emotions were churning. Who am I? he wondered. What parts of me are really me?
"The truth is, the answer doesn't matter," Pharaun said. "At the end of the day, when the tale has been told and your reckoning is at hand, you've still made all the choices. At the end, you've only got one person, and one person only, to answer to. Yourself." His tone grew a bit wistful. "I learned that the hard way, standing on that Abyssal Plane as the spiders kept coming." He blinked and returned his gaze to Kael. "It's not me, it's not her"-he pointed to Aliisza-"it's not that angel who raised you. It's not even your god. Unless you're satisfied with the choices you've made regarding them and how you choose to deal with them, none of the rest matters."
Kael spent a long time thinking on what both his father and mother told him, and it was brightening into dawn when he felt himself being drawn away from that illusory place and back into his own body.