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Elves: a servant race. The information was there, rising to the fore without him even asking. Swift but frail. The Gyrderi employ a corps of elf war-wizards, and the species has displayed an aptitude for magic. Be prepared for arcane attack. As an afterthought: Elves do not sleep, though they require a period of trance and mental exercise to restore balance: they do not open a spiritual link to Dal Quor during this time. The unusual pigmentation of these elves could be the result of long-term exposure to magical forces.

Pierce didn’t have time to analyze the thoughts. His last arrow had found the throat of an enemy soldier, and now his flail was in his hands. He swung low, lashing the chain around an opponent’s knees and jerking him off of his feet; as the dark elf tried to rise, the metal ball of the flail caught him in the face, and he fell for good.

As skilled as he was, Pierce was terribly outnumbered. He tried to keep Lei in his peripheral vision, but the elves were moving around him. Even as he parried two swordsmen with a sweeping stroke of the flail, a spear-tip slipped through his guard and dug into the leathery roots under his right arm. Then he heard a voice—he didn’t know the language, but even as he heard the words he knew it meant “Stand aside!”

The elves scattered. Pierce tried to locate the speaker, but the words seemed to have come from empty air, or was there something there? A vague shimmer? A …

The flare of light was overwhelming. Dazzling, vivid colors filled his field of vision, and for an instant he was paralyzed by the brilliant radiance. The dark elves had known what to expect, and before he could recover they were upon him. The shaft of a spear knocked him to the ground, and as his vision cleared he saw a half-dozen weapons leveled down at him. Two of the spearheads were shrouded in flame. The firesled swept over him, and there was another explosion to the east.

Even as Pierce considered his options, a thought occurred to him. Your companion Lei has been seriously injured. She is alive, but further strenuous activity could prove fatal.

He knew it was true. He could sense Lei’s presence even though he could not see her, and he knew she’d been caught in the last blast of the firesled. The odds were impossible, and he couldn’t put Lei at further risk. Reluctantly, he released his grip on his flail and spread his hands.

Pierce offered no resistance as the drow took his weapons and bound his hands. His attention was focused inwards. Your companion. It had seemed like his thought, but it wasn’t. Even now, he could sense that Lei’s condition had stabilized.

Identify yourself, he thought.

Why do we need names?

The thought seemed natural, as if it had just occurred to him, a logical response to his question, but Pierce had been waiting for it, and he examined the thought the instant it came to him. He could feel a hint of the outside presence … like a voice he couldn’t quite remember, the faintest possible scent. Something vast, old, and ever so slightly … feminine.

We are separate. You are sentient. Surely you have an identity of your own.

Perhaps I am just a part of you … a part you’ve forgotten.

The dark elves had surrounded Pierce and brought him together with Lei. Her skin was covered with burns and ash, and there were charred holes in her cloak, but she still smiled at him. He offered her his hand, and the drow did not stop her from leaning on him.

A name. Make one up if you must, but tell me who and what you are or I’ll rip you out of my chest.

Perhaps. For now, you may think of me as Shira. What am I? I am your destiny. I was made for you.

I am less than thirty years old, Pierce thought. You have been in a vault for over thirty thousand years. You were not made for me.

Then perhaps you were made for me. Is there so much of a difference?

Pierce reached up to touch the orb, where the lone dragonshard protruded from his torso. He considered the mental command that would deactivate his essence node, forcing the sphere from his body.

I wouldn’t. You need me.

Why is that?