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Stabbing pain in her wounded leg cut short her stream of invectives. Damn Angul for refusing to provide healing. Usually, it was all she could do to fight off his influence. Now that she most needed his balm, he remained dull, unconcerned metal. She savagely shoved the blade in his sheath, a bitter oath in her mouth. She groped for her flask.

The pain in her leg redoubled, pounding as if a spike were being inserted. Blood slicked het calf and clouded the icy water with a scarlet plume. A wave of dizziness pulled at her and she stumbled.

Gage appeared at her side with a supportive arm.

"How is your wound?" he asked, concern turning down the corners of his mouth. The thief's own injury no longer seemed to bother him… Then she saw the glint of a discarded glass vial lying unstoppered and empty along his path.

"Are you blind? What do you think? You could have saved me some of your healing draught," she mumbled. "Help me sit."

The thief lowered her to the ground and said, "Sorry Kiril, I was in a bad way. I didn't think to save any." As Gage's gauntleted right hand guided her to the ground, her sheathed weapon finally sparked and glimmered.

She gave up scrabbling for her flask. Instead, she grasped Angul's hilt. It was just like him. Despite himself, the willful blade couldn't remain quiescent in such close proximity to the hellbred glove. As her fingers slipped around the hilt, warmth suffused her. It suddenly occurred to her that amputating the thief s hand then and there was probably a reasonable course of action.

Above and beyond his fraternization with tools born in hellish dimensions, Gage knew more about the Knights' emergence than he should. What had he said during the heat of the fight? Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she looked up at him. She gripped her sheathed sword tighter. Angul stanched her blood and fused severed flaps of skin and muscle, knitting them together as if never parted.

When she stood, her strength was renewed, and more. Her eyes burned as she roughly threw off the thief's hand, turning to face him. He realized his peril and backstepped.

Kiril groaned with the mental effort of relinquishing her grip on Angul's hilt. An arc of blue-bright fire persisted a moment, a connection between her hand and the blade, before spitting and snapping into oblivion, burning her palm with petulant fury.

"Not today, Angul," she told the blade, which quivered and audibly groaned, impotent in its leather scabbard. "Kiril, I-" began Gage.

"Quiet! I need to think," she interrupted. But did she have time for that luxury? Doubtful. Something was terribly wrong within the bastions of her old home. How could she come to any other conclusion when the bodies of wood elves lay in shallow graves before the Causeway, and its once doughty defenders attacked former Keepers?

She mentally reached out, feeling for the planar veil and the access points that would flip the Causeway open once more-and found nothing. The Causeway Gate had been sealed from within, and no external force, not even a Keeper, could access it until those inside decided otherwise.

The half-elf martial warrior and his sorcerous companion approached. Where had they come from, and what would they demand of her? Too many thoughts competed for her attention. She didn't need any more complications. She was close to breaking. Maybe a sip from her flask would do the trick. She grabbed the enchanted container, easily unclipping it now that Angul had mended her…

No.

No! She shook her head, so violently she saw flashes of light.

No. If Nangulis had somehow, beyond all reason, returned to Stardeep, dulled wits wouldn't pave the road to that reunion. Quite the opposite. Better just to run herself through here and now than allow her decade-old habit to sabotage her, on the cusp of comprehension. Kiril returned her flask to her belt.

The strangers bowed their heads in greeting. Their unforeseen aid had turned the tables, or at least preserved her life long enough until someone within Stardeep