Eliath stared at the ceiling and begged the powers for sleep. Every night had been like this for the old wizard, ever since he’d encountered that woman. What the Hells were you thinking?!, she had demanded of him. What little he could remember of the answer terrified him, to the extent that he hadn’t asked Thea for any help with his memory.
Now, in the grip of another sleepless night, Eliath wondered if he’d made the right decision. Again he promised to seek her out, doubting that he ever would. His work with the Doomguard kept him so busy during Sigil’s daylight hours… still, how much more of this could he take?
What was that? Eliath’s eyes drifted to the door of his small room – had he heard a noise in the hall? Straining to see in the darkness, he invoked a spell of light, catching the glint of shining metal – a silver blade, drawing closer.
Eliath rose from his bed and beheld the weapon’s wielder, a flat shadow with a humanoid shape. “Death has come for you, Eliath Morard,” it breathed, and raised the sword to strike.
Eliath flung his hands out and shouted words of power, reducing the shadow demon to a smoldering pile of ashes.
The old wizard watched the silver sword clatter to the floor. He hadn’t expected that spell to work on the creature. Moreover, he hadn’t known that he’d known that spell – that he could cast it. How had he done that?
The sight of the demon had stirred something in his memory, in the hinterlands of his consciousness. He focused his will, struggling to recall -
- and in an eye’s blink, Eliath’s entire life came crashing down upon him, and he remembered everything…. all the spells and powers at his disposal. The location of the portal to the Isle of Black Trees, and its key. The reason he’d been seeking it to begin with. And the entity who’d started him down that path in the first place.
“Betzalel,” Eliath sighed.
Without another word, Eliath Morard gathered the sword and his possessions, then left the Armory, having decided that there was much work to do before he slept.