No pain.

She took a deeper breath.

A little strain from the broken ribs, but that was it.

She shifted slightly; sore muscles but nothing major. And no ropes, no chains, no wire. Not like last time she'd woken without knowing where she was.

She could feel a blanket–no, several–over her, and pillows. Cold air over her face. She smiled, and lazily let her eyes open. She knew she was home and she'd been Healed for real. Not so she could be dragged back to the torture chamber, not to save some Priest from feeling guilty. For real.

I made it. She saw the white textured ceiling above her and knew it was in the Knights' complex; she could hear a fire crackling, and took a deep breath of the sharp air. It even smelled different. I made it, I'm home, I'm safe.

She was also incredibly thirsty. She had a vague recollection of something from training, explaining that healing would usually leave a person dehydrated, and the more severe the wounds, the more dehydration there'd be. The slave hadn't known how to Heal well enough for it to be that effective, she reasoned, but now she was in the care of a real Healer…

She rolled over a little, and sure enough, there was a table by her bed. A mostly melted down candle sat next to jug of water and an already filled glass. She slowly propped herself up on her elbows, then reached out to get take the glass. She took a deep drink.

Nothing had ever tasted so clean.

She replaced the cup after she drained it, but just the slight movement left her exhausted. She'd been Healed, but was a long way from healthy. She let her hand slip down to the table and then off and back on to the bed, but something had caught her attention.

She willed her eyes to stay open as she glanced back at the table, and saw a small spot of silver next to the candle stick. It took her last burst of energy to reach out for it; her fingers brushed something small and closed over it.

It only took a minute to identify the small charm she was holding. It was diamond and sapphire, set in a silver background, hanging off a silver chain. Her eyes widened for a second. She couldn't remember whose it was, she was too tired to try and read the initials, but seeing it… It was real. It meant something.

She fell asleep with it clutched in her fist.

[OPENING CREDITS]

Episode 7: Greater Things

Cleran woke before Dysis and looked around at the stone prison. Nothing had changed since they'd dozed off the night before. It was still sparse, though not as much as the cell they'd kept Islana in–he stopped himself, wondering why he kept comparing their cell to hers.

He sighed. Dysis had been on the verge of a breakdown since they'd awoken the previous night. Cleran had been the calm one–the one Dysis was depending on. It was the oddest feeling; Cleran had never been in that role before. He was the younger brother–half brother–the one who had the problems, the one who had no idea what to do.

Well, aside from bear it. He'd had practice at that. His parents, growing up; the other Warriors; even Eliz had put him through a lot of hell before Dysis finally told her off. And it had by Dysis who did it, not him. He would never have been able to. He'd just have taken it.

It definitely was a frightening thought that he was so used to coping with what other people did to him that this… Well, all right, it was worse than most situations, and he was scared, but he wasn't actively shaking. But Dysis had no idea how to cope. He had been shaking, literally, for quite awhile. Now that he wasn't so exhausted from walking he was able to think about what was happening, and Dysis understood politics well enough to know what was going on.

He wasn't just a hostage, he was the High Priest. If he was lucky, they'd only kill him. More likely he'd end up paying for the war with blood…

He's never been hurt before, Cleran mused silently. He also held no delusions about what was coming. He was a Warrior, they were Knights. But he had seen Islana first hand, and he'd been in bad situations before. Not this bad, but… But I know how to cope. Dy doesn't.

He told that to himself firmly, but had no idea how he would do it. Just Islana he'd been able to convince to leave Dysis alone, but there were more people now, and they'd probably want revenge for Islana.

But he wasn't panicked.

There was a flicker of light in the cell, and the same angel appeared, crouching on the floor, wings outspread as if for balance. He stood and looked down at Cleran. Dysis didn't stir.

"You…?" Cleran asked.

Ilyan shrugged. "I thought I'd clear a few things up before he wakes. For one, his presence is unnecessary. The Goddess likes you, and for whatever reason wants to keep you alive. This has happened to Warriors before."

"What–who?"

"It was a long time ago, and that's unimportant. But what is important is that you, for a time at least, will be all right. Dysis may not."

"What do you mean?" Cleran asked stonily.

Ilyan shrugged. "Behave yourself. We can't do anything to you, but we can hurt him."

"No."

"It's up to you–this is likely the most warning you'll get. Step out of line, we take it out on him."

"I won't let you do that."

"Then do what you're told."

Cleran started to object, then broke it off and nodded. "All right."

"Good." Ilyan paused. "No one's ever abused him before, have they?"

"No."

"Hm."

"What?" Cleran demanded.

"Just wondering–how did one brother end up the High Priest, and the other as everyone's whipping boy?"

"I'm not."

"I can read your thoughts, Warrior. I know damn well what life is like for you."

"It wasn't–it wasn't that bad."

"If you say so," Ilyan agreed indulgently. "But I just wanted to warn you. Do as you're told. Try and convince him to do the same. Most of these people are decent and fair–but incredibly angry. Don't give them a reason to act on that anger."

"I won't."

"And especially do not–not–ever even think of hurting Islana. Ever." He smiled. "I'm her guardian angel, and I'm going to be here watching her, and you, every moment. I can see your thoughts, I know what you do, I'll be there even when you can't see me. Don't. Ever. Hurt. Her."

Cleran nodded. "Why will you be watching me?" he asked finally.

"The Goddess wants you alive for a reason. I don't know what it is yet–I have a few ideas, but I don't know. And I'm going to find out."

"What ideas?"

"I wouldn't want to scare you."

"You think you could scare me?"

"You're scared now," Ilyan said, his voice dropping dangerously for a minute. "You're scared of what's going to happen to your brother."

"I'd die before I'd let anyone hurt him."

Ilyan half-laughed. "I admire that–I am the Angel of Sacrifice. But you can't take these beatings for Dysis. You don't have to. You're meant for greater things than he is, Cleran."

"Greater? He's the High Priest."

"And you're his bastard brother." Ilyan shrugged. "I meant what I said. You're meant for greater things." He began to shimmer and fade from sight.

"Wait–how–"

"Two last things: don't tell Dysis you're protecting him. He'd take it badly and probably get himself killed. And Islana can't know who I am."

"Why not–what–wait!" Cleran started, but Ilyan was gone.

Dysis rolled over. "Why're you yelling?" he asked sleepily.

"Frustrated," Cleran said smoothly. "Just... wishing someone would come tell us what's going on."

Dysis sat up. "They're going to kill us, aren't they?" he asked.

"No, I don't think–"

"They are. I know they are. Because if the situation was reversed, I'd have us killed. Everything I did to Islana–they probably won't settle for just death for me. You…" Dysis swallowed. "There's hope for you."

"Dysis, they won't kill you. I won't let them," Cleran said.

"Don't lie to me," he accused.

"I'm not lying. You're the High Priest of Ocando, they won't just kill you–"

"They'll make me suffer first. I know how this works. I'm a tactician. I–"

"You're panicked!" Cleran snapped, interrupting him. "Take a deep breath. We're used to having prisoners, they aren't. They won't know what to do with us immediately, so we've got some time. But that time won't do us any good if you can't think. You just said that the tactician. Clear your head."

Dysis stopped and stared at him, though that was more from shock than from the fact that Cleran was right. He did take a deep breath eventually, and nodded. "Sorry," he said. "I–Sundancer. I've just never had to think about anything from this angle before."

"You'll think of something," Cleran said. "Meanwhile–meanwhile, I'll handle the Knights when it comes to that."

"What do you mean?"

Cleran sighed. "You're the High Priest, and I'm expendable. I won't let them hurt you."

He couldn't even bring himself to wonder what Ilyan Kelanister had meant by greater things, but he'd follow the advice. He'd protect Dysis. There was nothing else for him to do.

Islana awoke to find herself in a Healer's room, still safe, tired, and thirsty, but no longer alone. "Jall…" she muttered, seeing the old man sitting in the visitor's chair.

"'Morning," he greeted her. Even after so many years, his voice had an accent–he'd been a slave, but escaped so long ago hardly anyone remembered his arrival. But his voice, the accent, reminded her of Ocan and she shuddered. Jall was old, somewhere in his sixties, and his hair was mostly white with a few streaks of black remaining.

"What happened?"

"You were unconscious. Nearly dead. We felt someone trying to use the tunnels, and when it failed sent out a search party. There was you, a Warrior and a Priest."

"He's–they're important."

"We assumed. No one has spoken to them yet, we wanted to talk to you first."

"All right." She pushed herself into a sitting position, but pressing her palm into the mattress sent a sharp pain up her arm. She winced visibly. "My hand…"

"Jereh is caring for you."

"Wonderful." She said it without a trace of emotion.

"She's good, Islana. She's the best there is."

"She's a bitch, Jall."

"But she's the best Healer there is and you know it."

"Yeah." Islana felt the necklace charm in her palm and picked it up. "I got them back. Ilyan and Alira's…"

"We found them. You were wearing Ilyan's."

"It…" She couldn't explain.

"It suits you," he said. "Your parents would have been proud."

"I told them you were my grandfather."

"I'm flattered."

She shrugged. "I had to tell them something, Jall. I couldn't… I couldn't talk about them."

"I know." He knew; everyone knew. Islana was completely unable to talk about her real parents, and why it was she'd ended up fleeing to the Knights. Only a select handful knew, Jall among them–and Jereh, who held it against Islana.

Islana helped herself to more water. "Shit, my hand… I ache all over. But my hand is worst."

"Jereh said it was bad, and that was coming from her…"

"He wanted to destroy it–to destroy me."

"Who?"

"Dysis… Dysis Serathi."

"The Priest?" Jall guessed.

"High Priest."

"Hmm. Interesting. I'm sure you'll explain how to the Voice, but for now–welcome home, Islana. We're all relieved." He decided not to explain just how relieved they really were. Islana didn't need to worry about the King just yet.

"Thanks." She leant back against the headboard. "The other one, the Warrior, is his brother. I tried to kill him, but was in a hurry. He survived, followed me… Goddess. How long were we in that tunnel?"

"I have no idea. Jereh is going to talk to you in a bit, find out what was done to you and all, but if you want I'll stay. I know how you feel about her."

"I'm an adult. I'll be fine."

"Are you certain?"

"What did I do to her, anyway?"

"Some people just don't get along." Jall shrugged. "You didn't do anything to her. She didn't do anything to you. You just don't like each other."

"Yeah."

"Anything else you want to tell me?"

"The Warrior–he's not so bad. But his brother… Kill him."

"Only the Priest?"

"Kill them both if you want." She shrugged a little. "His Holiness is… he's… I want him fucking dead."

"I'll talk to the Voice about it."

"He's responsible for everything."

"All right. And the Warrior?"

"Is an idiot. But that's about it."

"Anything else we need to know before we question the prisoners?"

"Ask the Priest what he was planning to do about Erra Kelanister," Islana said. "I–I'd almost say let Erra deal with him."

Jall raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't think you'd wish that on anyone."

"I don't," Islana said. "But… Almost."

"I'll tell the Voice. And I'll send in Jereh." Jall rose, started to leave, then paused. "Don't think we'll be going easy on the Priest. After all, Jereh will be seeing him, too." He gave her an amused look and made his way out.

[EYECATCH]

Separate cells. Cleran didn't like that at all. It was too easy for him to be lied to about his brother, it was too easy for the Knights to lie to Dysis about him… But now at least he'd seen faces and heard voices, it no longer felt as though it was just him and Dysis alone in the world.

He wondered if those were the thoughts Islana had when she was in her cell. No one but her and Cleran in the world–or maybe in the torture chamber, the world was her and Ocan. That seemed very likely, though it wasn't something he wanted to dwell on.

"Where are you, Dysis?" he asked the empty cell. Unlike the ones they had in the dungeon, he couldn't see out the door to know if there was a Knight keeping guard. There was no one to talk to but himself.

He was almost glad of that, though. He'd been questioned earlier by some Knight (at least he assumed she was a Knight; her hair was entirely black) and while she'd restrained herself from violence, she was certainly hostile. He'd done the best he could answering questions honestly, as she hadn't asked anything he felt he shouldn't answer, and he was keeping Ilyan's warning in mind.

But she was scary. He could only hope someone else had questioned Dysis… She'd started out by greeting him as, "The High Priest's bastard brother." So apparently Islana had explained. Or they'd figured it out… But he'd asked about Islana. She hadn't answered.

He'd decided not to bring up the angel who had appeared twice now. He had no way of knowing if she knew about it, and she never mentioned it. He didn't want to look like a liar, and even though he was curious, he didn't want to cause trouble.

After about half an hour of basic questions–name, age, rank and the like, plus questions about how he'd ended up following Islana and what he'd witnessed being done to her. He barely kept his voice steady describing what he'd helped Ocan do to her hand, and how he'd stood by and watched as she was nearly murdered. If he hadn't already hated himself for it, he hated himself more when he saw the looks the Knight was giving him.

By the time she had him escorted back to his cell, he wanted to cry. She hadn't said anything, not precisely, but… The look in her eye, her tone of voice, her body language… Every thing about her implied she wanted him to die.

I imagine she'll get her wish, angels aside. The people here… We all wanted Islana dead. This is just the same…

His rambling thoughts were interrupted as the door to his cell opened. He looked up nervously, grateful he didn't see the same Knight standing there, but worried anyway. The Knight was an elderly man, carrying a plate and a thermos. The man was a Knight, though he probably hadn't seen the battlefield in several years. He deposited the meal, straightened, and looked down at Cleran.

"Do you have any questions?" he asked, speaking Cleran's language flawlessly. The only touch of an accent was native to Arpiar's southwest region.

"Where's my brother?"

"In another cell. Far enough that you can't communicate."

"Why?"

"Because we don't trust you not to try and escape."

"And this is supposed to stop me?" I even sound like Islana, he thought.

"Would you honestly leave without him?"

Cleran didn't answer, but then, he didn't need to. "What are you going to do with him?"

"No questions for yourself?"

"Only once I know he's safe."

"Are all Warriors as devoted to him as you are?"

No, he thought, but nodded.

"Well–I have no idea. We certainly weren't expecting Islana to reappear dragging the two of you with her. So… We'll see what the Voice decides." He noted Cleran's vaguely confused expression. "The Voice of Kaleal–the High Priest."

"Oh." Cleran knew that the High Priest's identity was kept a strict secret, and that only a few of the Knights would even recognize him, let alone know his name. He wondered if this Knight knew.

"The same goes for you, actually. For now, we…" He trailed off, though it clearly wasn't problems with the language.

"You'll what? Treat us like we treated her?" Cleran snapped before he could stop himself.

There was a long silence. The man smiled. "Do I detect guilt? From a Warrior?"

"I did what I had to."

"Of course. Sadly, that excuse won't work for your brother. Enjoy your meal," the Knight said, and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Cleran interrupted.

"Yes?"

"Islana–is she all right?"

"She's in the care of Healers. I'm sure she'll be thrilled you asked after her." And then he left Cleran to his thoughts.

Erra turned the sealed letter over in his hand a few times. It was addressed to him, of course, and was too thin to be the bi-monthly report the Voice sent him. This contained only one sheet of paper, at most two.

He opened it carefully, unfolded the single parchment inside, and read:

She took two prisoners; the one who will be sent with her to your city is a Warrior by the name of Cleran. We would appreciate use of your dungeons, but will make other arrangements if you prefer. The other prisoner is remaining here for his own safety. He is Dysis Serathi, High Priest of Ocando.

No. You may not see him at this point. Your access to the Warrior is up to Islana. Again, I urge you to contact her.

He crumpled the document within his fist. Yes, Brother–how dare you still call yourself that?–yes, I'll contact her. On my terms.

"So why do you suppose we've been assigned like this?" Jereh asked flatly.

Jall looked up from the papers on his desk and gave her a dark look. "You tell me, Jereh," he muttered. The two of them had found themselves pretty much in charge of Islana and her prisoners–Jereh was Islana's Healer as well as a ranking Knight; Jall was the highest ranking Knight, the liaison between the Voice and the Knights.

For the past few generations, there had been a split within Kaleal's church; the agenda of the Knights grew to radically differ from that of the Priests. Technically, the Knights were subservient to the Priests, and when they were being prevented from full-out fighting the war, they split into their own sect of the Church and began to pretty much ignore everything the Priests told them.

For the most part, they were still subservient to the Voice, however he was never able to deal with the needs of the war as well as leading the clergy. As a result, a new position arose, referred to as the Goddess' Blade. The Blade lead the Knights in absence of the Voice, and was usually appointed by the Voice–though sometimes the Goddess Herself chose the blade.

The Voice had appointed Jall years ago, and though he no longer took to the battlefield–he was in his early sixties–he still held the title.

"It's sad when I have to question the loyalty of the Blade."

"I've never made a secret of my loyalty," Jall said. This was a conversation he didn't want to have, but he knew what was coming. Jereh had been hinting at this for quite a while.

"Really. Then why won't the Voice send you to Kal'Ishka?"

"Probably because I speak Arpiar's language and you don't, so I should stay with the prisoner who doesn't, and perhaps because you're Islana's Healer, and I'm not."

"Lucky how that keeps you away from King Erra."

"It is."

"I'm going to ask you. No one has ever been brave enough to ask before, but I will. Are you loyal to the Voice or to the King?"

Jall raised an eyebrow. "The Voice knows, and the King knows. It makes no difference to you." He was utterly unflappable, something Jereh wasn't used to. Pretty much everyone found her frightening.

"It does. I have every right to know, to question–"

"You want my job." Jall grinned. He knew he was right.

"I want to know if you'd betray us for Erra Kelanister. You didn't seem very upset when he threatened to destroy an entire Island."

"I wasn't."

"So what if the Voice decided to try and stop him? Which side would you be on?"

"The Voice knows, and the King knows. I speak Dysis' language, and you're Healing Islana. Enjoy your stay in Kal'Ishka."

"You didn't answer me!" she snapped.

"I know." He grinned.

"Would you, please?" She spat the word please as if it was offensive.

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Because people don't say no to you often enough. Because I don't feel like it and I outrank you. And because it's none of your business."

She opened her mouth to answer, then stopped, then started again with a different tactic. "One might assume that because you won't say, you aren't loyal to the Voice."

"One is free to assume anything she likes."

"It'll be awfully hard for you to keep control of the Knights when they find that out."

"One is free to assume whatever she likes, but that doesn't make her correct," Jall said.

"So then you are–"

"But perhaps, she is. Jereh, this is none of your business. My loyalty doesn't matter at the moment; I'm doing my job, just as I was told to, before there was any reason for my loyalty to be questioned. Before you were out of training."

"Before your son's death?" she snarled.

"Yes," Jall said, still unshaken. She was resorting to cheap shots now; everyone knew that Jall hated talking about his family, but he certainly wasn't going to let Jereh force him into being emotional about it. He pretty much never showed his emotions.

"I don't think I trust you," Jereh said coldly. "I think you'd sell us out to Erra Kelanister, and I don't think you should be trusted with such an important prisoner, one who Erra will surely want access to."

"Then don't trust me," Jall said. "But honestly, Jereh, what do you think you can do about it? I am the Blade, I was appointed by the Voice, and will remain the Blade until he chooses to appoint someone else. And that means two things: one, if I'm not loyal to him, it clearly hasn't worried him so far; and two, I out rank you. Question my loyalty all you like, but you won't get anywhere by it. You are dismissed."

"Jall–"

"Dismissed, Jereh. That means get out of my office."

She favored him with a final glare before leaving him.

Since my son died, Jall thought. My son, his wife, my granddaughter. And they dare question my loyalties–the King knows, the Voice knows, and that's all that's important.

Goddess, don't let her get this position after I die. She's far too single-minded.

"All right you–on your feet. We're moving you."

"Again?" Cleran asked, standing tiredly.

"Did I give you permission to speak?"

"Am I supposed to answer that no, or just stay quiet?" Cleran asked.

Jereh smiled, stepped forward, and grabbed the collar to Cleran's coat. She slammed him backwards into the wall, and pulled a knife. "Listen carefully, bastard. You want to live? You want your brother to live? Learn to hold your tongue. Got it?"

He had expected her to threaten his throat with the knife, but Jereh had other ideas. She was threatening just below his waist. He winced. "Yeah," he said.

"See that you remember."

Bitch, he thought, but was bright enough not to say anything. Jereh released him and led him through a few hallways up into what looked like a kitchen. The elderly Knight who'd spoken with him briefly before was standing, leaning on a counter, and seated in a wooden chair was Islana.

She still didn't look very good, though it was hard to tell; it was very cold and as a result everyone was bundled under layers of clothing. But from what Cleran could tell, Islana was still too thin, her leg was somehow splinted under her clothes so that she couldn't bend it, and her lower arm and all of her right hand were in a thick cast. There was no way she could use her hand at all–but she was wearing a sword anyway.

Ilyan Kelanister's necklace still hung from her neck.

"Are you three ready?" Jall asked.

"Yeah," Jereh said.

"I don't see why this is necessary," Islana muttered.

"Because the Voice wants you to talk to him," Jereh said.

"And if I don't want to?"

"Islana," Jall sighed. "That is up to you, of course, but… You aren't going to be working for quite awhile. You're officially on vacation."

"I don't want to be on vacation, I don't need–"

"What you need is up to your Healer. She says you need a break before you make those injuries worse. So you're on vacation."

"Yes, sir," Islana muttered.

"I'm glad that's cleared up. Now… Ready?"

"Yes," Islana said.

"Yes," Jereh echoed.

Cleran figured they wouldn't care if he was ready or not, so he said nothing. It seemed wiser, while that Knight was there.

Jall moved away from his counter and towards the center of the floor, crouched and pressed on a tile. A section dropped away, similar to what had happened in the Church. Cleran's eyes widened, and Jall turned to him.

He introduced himself finally. "My name is Jall. This is Jereh–you already know Islana. Your fate, and your brother's, is up to us plus the Voice. So do what you're told, without question, and you'll be fine.

"This–and the tunnel you cam here in–were designed and built a long time ago. Islan himself laid the foundation in your Church, thus giving lie to the rumors that he died a broken slave." For some reason, all the Knights found it important to know that Islan had never given up. He continued, "This one leads to Kal'Iskha, where you'll be going with Islana and Jereh. Watch yourself. Don't step out of line."

Cleran nodded. "All right. Jereh first, then Cleran, then Islana." He reached down into the hole and pulled up, producing a ladder, then stepped away. Jereh made her way to the tunnel and climbed down, and Jall turned to watch Cleran.

He stood still for a moment. "If I do as I'm told to the letter–without question–will Dysis be safe?"

"I can't guarantee that," Jall said. "But I'll try."

Cleran nodded. "All right." He stepped forward and climbed down the ladder, surprised it wasn't very awkward, even wearing chains. It was a few minutes before Islana followed; from below Cleran could hear that she was talking to Jall, but not what they were saying. When she finally climbed down, it was awkward, as she couldn't only grip the ladder with one hand, and one of her legs was being held straight.

He looked out at the tunnel in front of him. It stretched forward for… He didn't want to think about how far, or how long a walk this would be. And neither of the Knights seemed to be prepared with food or water.

To his surprise, they didn't start walking once Jall closed the ceiling over them. "I'll do it," Islana said.

"You need to save your strength," Jereh said coldly. "I'll handle it."

"All right," Islana agreed, a little too cheerful. "But it'll take you twice as long. It always does."

"Then you should stop talking so I can get started right away," Jereh answered, then drew her sword and knelt near the middle of the tunnel. She began to chant a prayer, and as she did so, Cleran stepped closer to Islana. She shied away.

He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She gave him a dark look.

"I only ask because I–I know what happened to you, and… Well, no one has told me if you'll recover or not."

"Why do you care?"

He shrugged. "I have no idea. But… Well, I hope you heal all right."

"Sure."

"I do," he repeated.

"Why?" she snapped. "I very nearly killed you. I'm pressing for them to kill your brother. I promise you won't want me back at full strength on the battlefield, because I'll kill a lot of your friends."

"They aren't my friends," he pointed out. "You must have noticed that."

"I didn't really care."

Jereh was still chanting, but her sword was starting to glow. The glow spread and covered the floor, the walls and eventually a whole slice of the tunnel. "Go… Through…" Jereh grunted, obviously strained.

Islana stepped forward, but stopped before the shimmering barrier. "Twice as fast and without breaking a sweat," she said, then stepped through and disappeared into the shimmer. Cleran stared.

"Go!" Jereh yelled at him, and Cleran did as told. His skin went cold and clammy as he stepped into the shimmer, and the world seemed to fade away. He felt nauseous, violently so, and if he'd been able to feel his limbs would have doubled over and retched. But he couldn't, he couldn't even feel his body…

And then it was over, and he stumbled forward and after a few steps collapsed onto his knees, and proceeded to throw up violently. When he finished and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he managed to stand and saw Islana looking over at him, clearly amused. She seemed unaffected by… whatever that had been.

Jereh stepped out behind him. Her skin had gone white and her lips were nearly blue, and she was dripping sweat. The moment she stepped through the shimmering barrier, it faded.

Islana smiled. "Don't feel bad, Jereh," she said. "The Warrior threw up."

Jereh gave her a nasty look, but was gasping for breath too hard to say anything.

"What… what was that?" Cleran asked.

"That is the real secret of the tunnels," Islana said. The glow had faded into darkness, but she still knew what she was doing. She took a few steps forward, arms outstretched, and brushed the wall in front of her. She found what she was looking for–another ladder–and pushed up.

The ceiling opened above her and light flooded the tunnel again. The ladder sprang upwards and she made her way out of the tunnel slowly.

Cleran just stared, wondering what Jereh had done that had transported them to the other end of the tunnel so quickly. He glanced at Jereh who pointed towards the ladder, and climbed up. Islana and another Knight stood waiting, and he noticed Islana holding an envelope in her good hand. He couldn't be certain, but was fairly sure he could make out the seal of the Kelanister family on it.

[CLOSING CREDITS]