Daneera stalked.

She hadn’t eaten in nearly three days, ever since leaving the village of the Krash elves. The Bladǎri Forest was vast, and she had a long way to go. But, through a combination of her speed auras and her relentless determination, she had made good time. She was just coming up now on the Rever Marsh, which was slowly consuming the Bladǎri to the southeast. Partly, she was making her way to the marshes out of an educated guess, knowing that several of the Fae nobles held ancestral lands in the swamps. Mostly, though, she was simply trusting her instincts.

Throughout the entire way to the Rever Marsh, however, Daneera had seen no game. Even the birds had grown silent, or, more likely, absent. Whatever was affecting the beasts of the Bladǎri Forest was widespread beyond all reason, and it seemed as though the animals were congregating toward the center of the forest, where the Fae citadel was. Daneera, conversely, was moving to the forest’s edge. She could do no good at the Fae Courts until she had found and stolen one of the ancient Fae crowns. And Daneera had no idea how she was going to find one, let alone obtain it.

Trying to make time, Daneera had not even stopped to forage for food in the three days she had been travelling. Now, though, as the trees were beginning to thin and the marshes beginning to take over, Daneera had caught the first sounds of a possible meal. It was the sound of an animal thrashing in shallow water. Perhaps some deer had been caught in a trap at the waterline, or some beast had been wounded and crawled to the water to sate its dying thirst, but whatever it was, Daneera was intent on finding and killing it.

The huntress stalked slowly through the waning forest, allowing her instinct and her sense of hearing to guide her. The closer she got to the sound, the more confused she became. The noise was unlike anything she had ever heard before, the sounds of splashing water coming more quickly and closer together than they should have. Daneera briefly considered the possibility that there were two different animals, both thrashing in the marsh, but she dismissed the idea quickly. Growing both more curious and more concerned, she drew her knife and pressed onward.

Daneera prided herself on always being as prepared as possible for any situation she found while hunting, and because of her preparedness, she rarely found herself surprised. But, when she broke through the tree line and into the marsh proper, Daneera could only stare dumbfounded at what she saw. There, in a shallow pool of stagnant water, was Denner Fabellian. He was lying face up, thrashing and convulsing, his face contorted in torment.

Before Daneera could pause to wonder what he was doing there in a swamp on Morvata, she had sheathed her knife and was moving. She tried to grab Denner under each armpit and drag him to dry ground, but he was thrashing so much, and his convulsions were so strong, that she couldn’t get a hold of him. She gave up on his upper body and instead tried to grab his legs, but even they were impossible to control. Finally, though, she was able to grab a hold of one of his legs at the boot and pull him to solid ground.

Even then, though, Denner continued to convulse. Daneera tried talking to him, hoping she could get his spasms under control, but he gave no response. The huntress had no idea whether he couldn’t hear her, or simply couldn’t speak, but either way, nothing seemed to help. All Daneera could do was sit there, watching the poor man suffer. She had been there, of course, when Denner had first been afflicted by Syl’s poison. It had looked bad then. Now, Denner seemed little better off than the living dead. His veins were visible through his ashen skin. They were a sickly purple color, and patches of a similar hue were visible on the skin’s surface, as well. Denner had always been thin, but now he looked little more than a skeleton. When Denner had first been poisoned, Daneera had wondered how much time he had left. As she looked at him now, she marveled that he had lasted this long.

Finally, the attack ended, and Denner struggled to catch his breath. As he was heaving for air, he began to cough, a low, rumbling sound, and he eventually spit up some sort of sickly colored mucus. Daneera could do nothing but look on and pity him. Her knowledge of healing magic was mostly restricted to wounds, and something told her that even expert healers would fare poorly against Syl’s poison. As she looked down at the shaking, shriveling form of Denner Fabellian, all Daneera could think about was how he had taken the poison so that the rest of them wouldn’t have to.

After Denner’s coughing fit, he finally managed to turn his head toward Daneera. His left eye was twitching almost nonstop, and seemed unfocused. His left arm hung at his side, and while Denner seemed able to move it, it never moved far. When the Delver spoke, his voice was weak and cracked.

“I’ve been looking for you, Daneera.”

The huntress nodded, and only barely resisted the impulse to ask him how he was doing. The answer, undoubtedly, would not be pleasant for either of them. “I’m glad you’re still alive, Denner.”

He coughed again, but managed to avoid a repeat attack. “I need your help.”

Daneera hung her head. “Denner, I…”

“Please, Daneera!” Denner interrupted, his voice pleading. He collapsed in on himself then, holding his stomach in obvious pain. “Please. It’s about Syl’s poison. There’s a chance for a cure, but I can’t do it alone.”

“You don’t understand, Denner,” Daneera said, running a hand through her dark, tangled hair. “I don’t have time to…”

“You think you don’t have time?” Denner said suddenly. “Daneera, I’m probably down to days. Weeks, maybe, but I’m feeling it now. The attacks, the convulsions, they’re getting worse. If the poison itself doesn’t kill me soon, I’ll end up breaking my own neck in a convulsion. I need…”

“I need to save the man I love, Denner,” Daneera said, then looked away from Denner, who had frozen in mid-sentence at her words. “He’s been taken by the Fae. And the only way I can get him back is to find one of their crowns.”

Denner closed his eyes tightly and lowered his head. After a few seconds, his face began to contort into an expression of pain, and Daneera tensed, expecting another convulsion from the poisoned man. But it never came. He just stayed there, frozen and silent, for several minutes.

“Denner…” Daneera began, but the Delver held up one hand to stop her.

“I found one.”

“What?”

“A Fae crown,” he said, opening his eyes. “I found one.”

Daneera’s eyes grew wide. “You did? How?”

Denner looked at Daneera with an unimpressed expression. “I’m a Delver, remember? I’m just living up to my title.”

“Where, Denner? Where?”

He gestured with his right hand toward the Rever Marsh. “In there. Same place I’m going. And coincidentally, it’s not far from a nest of Glide Vipers.”

“I don’t believe in coincidence,” Daneera said flatly.

“I remember,” Denner said. They had had a similar conversation when they had first met. “Daneera, I need a Glide Viper for the antidote to Syl’s poison”

“I told you, I don’t have time for this! I have no idea what those Fae are doing to Kerik, and if I don’t get to him, they could kill him, or worse.”

“And if I don’t get that Viper, I will die,” Denner insisted, his eyes pleading. “Or worse,” he added, to reflect Daneera’s words. “Who knows what nasty surprise Syl’s built into the end of this poison? Please, Daneera, help me. I can’t get that viper by myself.”

Daneera exhaled sharply in frustration. “And if I help you catch this viper of yours, you’ll help me get that crown?”

“I…” Denner started, then hesitated. “I’ll point you in the right direction,” he said finally in a defeated voice.

Daneera narrowed her eyes. “That hardly seems like a fair trade.”

Denner looked like he was in pain again, although not from the poison. “Daneera, if I…I can’t…” He gave up, slumping his shoulders. “Will you help me?”

She stared at him for a long time. She hated the thought of going out of her way even further by trying to run Denner’s errand for him, but ultimately, she knew he was right. She had no idea what was happening to Kerik, or what would happen, but Denner’s death was imminent. She had seen enough dying animals in her day to know that the Delver was on the threshold. Soon he would be holding on to life through will power alone, and soon after, not even that. And besides, she would waste as much or more time blindly searching the marsh, whereas Denner could lead her directly to the viper, and then to the crown.

“Alright,” she said softly. “Let’s get your antidote. How far?”

“It’s hard to tell,” Denner said. “I don’t know how fast I can move through the swamp. But maybe a day?”

Daneera nodded. “Then we’d better get going.”

Without another word, the huntress started off into the Rever Marsh, and Denner hurried to catch up, correcting her direction slightly to lead them to the Glide Vipers. At first, they walked in total silence, apart from the noise Denner made slogging through the marsh and the wheezing of his breath. The Delver kept up alright at first, though Daneera was forced to move slower than she wanted to anyway, unable to use her speed enchantments to cover the ground quicker. It frustrated the huntress, and gave her far too much time to think.

Mostly, she thought about Kerik. She wondered what was happening to him inside those insidious Fae Courts. Her mind kept flashing images of his lupine face as it had turned to her, his deep gray eyes glowing yellow, just as Shuru’s had, and the gorillas and the panthers. The Krash Elves believed it was the work of the Fae nobleman Glim Murkwisp. Daneera had never heard of him before, but if what her friend Lutha had told her was true, then she intended to have a very frank conversation with him.

The way through the Rever Marsh slowed considerably with Denner’s next convulsion. It lasted nearly ten minutes, and Daneera stood over him the entire time, making sure he didn’t roll into the shallow waters. When the attack subsided, Denner was weak and could barely stand, so Daneera had to help support his weight as they continued on. The Delver was apologetic, and after a half hour or so was able to walk on his own again. Daneera risked picking up the pace a bit more. Denner didn’t complain, and the two continued deeper into the swamp.

Eventually, Denner seemed to grow uncomfortable with the silence, and the two began to talk. Denner asked about Kerik, and Daneera told him about the werewolf as quickly and briskly as she could. Denner told her that he had seen both Penelophine and Lukas Harran briefly, and asked if she had run into any of those who had fought against the Dual-Walkers. Daneera told him that she had met up with Antine and Sundar Elarion once, and the fox seemed to be doing well. Their conversation contained more pauses than words, but it seemed to calm Denner a bit.

Denner’s second attack came about an hour before sundown. Fortunately, they were on a relatively high patch of dry ground, and the danger of him falling into the water was minimal, so Daneera took the opportunity to hunt. Just like in the Bladǎri, big game seemed completely absent. This did not surprise the huntress, as she had already seen the Marsh Panthers move further into the forest and away from the swamp under the influence of whatever force was at play. But Daneera was, after all, the huntress, and she was well equipped to live up to that title.

Denner was just recovering from his convulsions when Daneera returned, a five foot long eel draped across her shoulder. She dropped it to the ground in front of Denner and glanced up at the sun. They were beginning to run out of light, so without a word to the recovering Delver, she started to build a fire. The patch of ground they had found had a number of trees, most of which were old and dying, so she had plenty of firewood. It took her longer to get the fire started than she would have liked, but eventually she ignited the tinder, and within minutes had cleaned her eel and started to cook it.

The conversation they shared while they ate was even sparser than during their walk. Both planeswalkers were too absorbed in their own thoughts and troubles to pay much attention to the other one. Both of them had been through a great deal since they had first met on Arbagoth, shortly before they had to watch the entire plane burn. Daneera had grown to respect Denner far more than she ever thought she would have at that first meeting, and she didn’t have the words to express how grateful she was that he had taken Syl’s poison so that the rest of them wouldn’t have to. Now the Delver was paying the price for his sacrifice, and Daneera couldn’t help but feel guilty over the pain he suffered.

As the meal ended and the sun set, both planeswalkers settled down to try to get a little sleep before morning. Once again, Daneera’s thoughts drifted back to Kerik. She had never considered herself a romantic person. Far from it. But as she lay there, she found herself wishing Kerik was next to her, just like those nights in his cabin in the Bladǎri. She wished his arms were around her, his mouth close to her ear. She wished she could feel his warmth, and know that he felt hers. Partly she was puzzled at herself. This was not what she had set out to find when she first went looking for a mate. But mostly, her puzzlement gave way to longing.

“I’ll do what I can to help you get him back,” Denner said suddenly, much to Daneera’s surprise. “I promise.”

For several long moments, Daneera stayed silent. Then, she laughed a singular, scoffing laugh. “You read minds now, Denner Fabellian?”

“No,” the Delver said. “But if I loved someone who loved me, I’d be thinking about them right now. So I just wanted you to know that I’ll do what I can.”

Again, Daneera was stunned. She had never heard Denner talk like this before. Eventually, she simply said, “Thanks.”

She closed her eyes then, and drifted off to sleep.

The black sky was just beginning to lighten when Daneera was woken up to the sound of Denner Fabellian thrashing in agony. The fire had died down during the night, but despite the cool of the morning, Denner had thrown off the meager blanket he had produced to cover himself, and was convulsing again. Daneera had already learned that there was nothing she could do for him but hope that it passed quickly. This time it did, although the huntress had no way of knowing how long it had been going on. When Denner finally recovered enough to turn toward her, Daneera was frowning.

“They’re getting worse, aren’t they?”

Denner just nodded.

“Isn’t there anything that can help? With the pain, I mean.”

The Delver seemed to think for a few moments, but eventually shook his head. “I did find one thing that dulled the pain, but it made delving almost impossible.”

“You’re not your title, you know,” Daneera said suddenly. “It’s not the worst thing to not be able to delve.”

Denner shrugged. “Maybe not. But if I can’t delve, then I can’t find the antidote. So it’s either live in relative comfort for a short time, or deal with the pain and have a chance at a cure.” He paused, exhaling. “Slim though it may be.”

“I can only imagine what you might want to do to Syl for doing this to you.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Oh?” Daneera asked.

Denner sighed heavily as he worked himself into a sitting position. “Daneera, after everything I’ve seen, Arbagoth, the Wheel, and everything since getting poisoned, honestly? I just want to live. I never realized what life meant until I had to fight for mine. I hate what Syl did to me, but it’s nothing compared to the rest of what she and Chardis did. But we stopped them. They’re still alive, sure, but I don’t think they’ll ever be able to do what they did again. And I’d much rather have my life than my revenge, anyway.”

Daneera stared at Denner again, then laughed. “Well, I certainly don’t plan on hunting them down any time soon. But if I ever run into them again, I’ll give them a scar or two for you anyway.”

Denner smiled, then climbed to his feet. “Let’s go,” he said. “Neither one of us can afford to waste any more time.”

The huntress nodded, and together, the planeswalkers set off in search of Denner’s cure. The Delver had an attack around midmorning, but otherwise, the travelling went quickly, and as noon approached, Denner signaled for Daneera to stop. They were coming up on a small thicket of tall grass surrounding a rotted out old tree at the edge of the water. Without a word, Denner pointed to the tree and nodded his head toward it once.

Daneera scanned the surface of the dead tree and found their target almost immediately. In a hole in the tree that was just a bit higher than Daneera’s head, there was a snake nest where she could just make out the outline of a snake’s body. It appeared to be sleeping. Dropping down to a crouch, Daneera began to move toward it, but Denner stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“It’s never as easy as it looks,” he whispered, then closed his eyes. A moment later, from the other side of the thicket, another Daneera stepped out of the grass and toward the tree. Instantly, a jet-black shape burst out of the nest like it had been shot from a ballista. It darted through the air on wings that looked like a demon’s and sank it’s fangs into the air where the illusionary Daneera’s neck was. The illusion dissipated immediately, and the winged snake struck the ground, hissing in confusion and fury. Then, apparently disappointed, it coiled itself up and sprang straight into the air nearly twice as tall as either of the planeswalkers. It spread out first its wings and then its entire body and slowly glided back into its nest, where it coiled up and waited.

Daneera shook her head. “I’ve never seen anything like that before,” she whispered.

“They’re apparently incredibly rare. And deadly, too.”

“I’d imagine,” she said, thinking through her possibilities. “Oh, and Denner? Don’t make illusions of me anymore.”

“Oh…” Denner said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

“So,” she whispered, “do you have any way of capturing that thing?”

Denner nodded, and pulled out one of the ætherweb silk spheres that Lady Nasina had given him. “If I hit it with this, it’ll be trapped, and I can bring it through the Blind Eternities.”

Daneera took the ball from Denner’s hand and weighed it in hers, then gauged the distance to the nest. She shook her head. “I don’t think I can hit it from this angle. And besides, there might be more around.”

The Delver nodded emphatically. “There usually are.”

“We’ll have to draw it out,” she whispered, preparing herself.

“No!” Denner said. “Don’t risk yourself! I’ve had enough of that!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Um,” Denner began, then stopped.

“Look, I wasn’t talking about myself, anyway. I need to be in a position where I can throw this thing. But we still need that viper out of its tree and distracted.”

“You don’t mean me, do you?”

Daneera laughed. “I think you’re poisoned enough as it is, don’t you?”

Denner hung his head. “Yeah.”

Daneera looked over at him. “Sorry. Anyway, we need something that will both draw it out and keep its attention. Your illusions won’t keep it out long enough.”

“So what do we do? Wait for some animal to happen by?”

“We could be here for days,” Daneera said, “or forever. Haven’t you noticed that we haven’t seen a single beast the entire way here?” Daneera stopped, realizing that the snake’s eyes had not been glowing yellow when it had attacked Denner’s illusion. “He doesn’t seem to be able to take reptiles,” she whispered, mostly to herself.

“What?” Denner asked. “Who doesn’t?”

“Never mind,” Daneera said, glancing over at the Delver again. “Anyway, one thing at a time.”

“You have a plan?”

Daneera nodded. “I am a summoner, after all. And that’s not an honorary title.”

She closed her eyes, drawing energy from her mana bonds and thinking back to a quiet, peaceful glen she knew on a far-off plane. Smiling to herself, she brought the memory back to the forefront of her mind, and with it, one of her favorite creatures in the Multiverse. Then, half way between her and the Glide Viper’s tree, the æther began to congeal and comingle, and eventually formed the shape of a great and noble stag. It looked around, a bit confused, but it had only an instant to do so before the Viper was on it, trying to sink its venomous fangs into the creature’s neck.

The stag barely seemed to notice, and instead started to graze.

The viper, deeply confused that its prey was still standing, kept thrashing and trying to pierce the stag’s hide. While it was distracted, Daneera activated her speed auras, steadied herself, and then burst out into the thicket. The viper was so distracted trying to take down the stag that it failed to notice the huntress, who quickly got within an arm’s reach of the serpent and threw the ætherweb sphere, striking the viper right between its wings. The silk expanded, creeping over each and every scale until the Glide Viper was completely encased and fell to the ground, motionless. Daneera scanned the area quickly, paying particular attention to the tree nest, but no other vipers came out.

Daneera was gently scratching the stag’s neck as she beckoned Denner to come out. Reluctantly he did, and he stooped down awkwardly to pick up the trapped Glide Viper. He looked down at the silk-rapped reptile for a long time before looking back up at Daneera, who was watching him silently.

“Thank you, Daneera,” he said softly. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

The huntress nodded. “It’s the least I could do.” She turned toward the stag, who had stopped grazing. Apparently, the taste of the marsh grass was not to the noble beast’s liking. “And thank you, my friend,” Daneera said. “Now, I’d better get you out of here before whatever’s affecting this place affects you, too.”

As the beast vanished back through the æther, Denner cocked his head to one side. “What do you mean about what’s affecting this place? What’s going on around here?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Daneera said shortly. “It’s my problem. You’ve got your own to worry about. And now that you’ve got what you came for, tell me where to find that Fae crown, so that I can find what I came for.”

Denner nodded and closed his eyes to delve, but just after he did, another convulsion hit him, this one so strong that he collapsed hard to the ground the instant it hit. Denner’s left arm pressed against his side so hard that it must have left a bruise, while his right arm shook like a flag in the wind. Both of his legs shot out straight in repeated spasms that looked like they could have broken his knees, and his neck strained to one side at an angle that Daneera feared he would break it. In the midst of his convulsion, though, Denner somehow managed to point, his hand shaking wildly, in a direction that was approximately north. As the convulsion finally began to lessen, Denner managed to speak in a voice that was barely more than a gasp. “It’s that way.”

Daneera tore her eyes away from the macabre sight of Denner’s thrashing and looked in the direction the Delver had pointed. She could see nothing at all in that direction. She had seen Denner use his ability before, and she trusted he was right. She knew also that her own phenomenal sense of direction would keep her on the path he set. But, with how much he was shaking, she could easily drift off of the true path. Still, as she looked down at the dying man, she knew he had done the best he could. He had done all she could ask of him.

“Thank you, Denner,” she said. “I’ll find it.”

But Denner shook his head adamantly. “I’m coming with you.”

“Denner, you have what you came for. Go get yourself cured. I’ll find the crown.”

“It won’t help,” Denner said, struggling to his feet. When he had made it, he continued, his voice low and heartbroken. “There are four pieces to Syl’s poison, Daneera. This viper is the third.”

“Then you’re almost to your cure,” Daneera said. “You can’t waste your time…”

“Nobody knows what the fourth poison is,” he interrupted. “Even with this, I’m a dead man.” He choked out these last words, then hung his head. “There are so many people I haven’t helped,” he said, tears forming in his eyes. “So much good I could have done but didn’t.” He wiped his eyes, then straightened his twisted body as much as he could. “But by all the gods on all the planes, Daneera, I can help you now. If I’m going to die, it won’t be chasing an impossible cure. It will be doing some good.”

Without waiting for her response, Denner started walking in the direction he had pointed. Daneera stared after him, her mouth hanging slightly open. After a long moment, she shook her head and hurried to catch up.

“Are you sure about this, Denner?”

The Delver nodded. “It’s in there. I can feel it.”

Daneera frowned. They had travelled north for the remainder of the day, and about an hour before sundown, they had come across a place where the marshes deepened, and dry ground became sparse. There, rising out of the swamp, was a massive graveyard. The Rever Marsh, evidentially, had reclaimed much of the ancient burial ground, but there were still sections that were accessible on raised elevations. The largest structure was a massive stone mausoleum situated on the highest point. It was to this sepulcher that Denner was indicating.

“Are you ready?” Daneera asked.

Denner took a deep breath. “This place reminds me of Mavros.” Without thinking, the Delver looked up toward the sky as if expecting some great black bird to swoop down on him. Daneera put her hand on his shoulder, which made him flinch.

“We won at Mavros,” she said, then set her sight, and her determination, on the mausoleum’s wrought iron gate. “We’ll win here, too.”

Denner nodded, and together the two planeswalkers approached the gate. The thick, musky air of the Rever Marsh had apparently been assailing the bars of the gate for some time, judging from the rust that dominated their lengths. Daneera cast her huntress eyes around at every step, but there seemed to be nothing here. The graves had remained untended for some time, and there was no wildlife whatsoever. Satisfied that their search could continue uninterrupted, Daneera tried the gate. It was locked, but the lock, like the rest of the gate, was weakened from age and rust, and gave way after only three tries.

Between the rusted gate and the mausoleum’s door, there was a short grass entryway that likely once held a path. There were several dead trees that were no doubt originally decorative, but now served only as a grim warning. As they progressed through, Daneera stooped to the ground while Denner gazed upward at the stone arch over the door. Straining to read the carved letters in the growing shadows of twilight, Denner began to speak.

“Herein lies the Murkwisp clan, Lofty nobles, smart and quick, In life they mastered prank and plan, In death fell prey to life’s last trick.”

“Murkwisp?” Daneera said, looking up at him.

Denner shrugged. “That’s what it says here.”

“And you’re sure there’s a Fae crown in there?”

“Positive.”

Without another word, Daneera struck a spark on the tinder she had been gathering, and handed a makeshift torch to Denner. “We’ll need these. Come on.”

Daneera approached the door cautiously and tried the handle. Surprisingly, it opened immediately.

“I guess they thought the iron gate was enough,” Denner said.

“Yeah,” Daneera said, slowly sinking into a predatory crouch without realizing it. “Or they have other defenses we haven’t seen yet. Be careful.”

Denner simply nodded, and they both entered the Murkwisp mausoleum. Immediately beyond the door was a long hallway illuminated only by the flickering light of their torches. The hall was lined on each side with marble columns, and in between each was a masterful portrait of a different Fae. Each one had a name inscribed on the stone wall above it: Byro Murkwisp, Sar Murkwisp, Phani Murkwisp, Darene Murkwisp, Jule Murkwisp. The list went on and on, stopping with a female Fae named Hyra Murkwisp. Daneera stopped examining them after Darene, but Denner, ever curious, looked at each one, fascinated with the strange burial rite.

As they came near the end of the entry hallway, the portraits stopped, and there were only empty places, presumably for those members of the Murkwisp family that had not yet passed. Beyond the columns and portraits, there was a large archway, at which point the massive mausoleum widened to accommodate row after row of stone coffins, each separated from the others by stone walls that reached up to the ceiling. Daneera stuck her torch into the darkness of the crypt and frowned. The room was cavernous, and must have contained hundreds of coffins, far more than the portraits had suggested.

She turned to Denner. “Well,” she said, finding herself whispering. “Which way?”

Denner closed his eyes, focusing on the familiar feeling in his mind. He could feel the pull of the objects, people, or places for which he delved, and this one was leading him off to his left. With a slight motion of his torch, he pointed in that direction, and Daneera moved off that way, with Denner following behind her. The air in the tomb was stale, and cold, and seemed to carry strange whispers that vanished when they tried to focus on them. The light from their torches danced eerily across the stone as the shadows twisted away from it.

As they walked, both planeswalkers began to feel as though the walls of the crypt were closing in on them. The darkness grew more thick and the air heavier, and the strange sounds of the creaking tomb seemed to grow louder and more persistent. Daneera, who was not given to fits of fear, found herself constantly looking around, trying to peer beyond the imperfect sphere of her torch’s light. Denner was shaking, and it wasn’t from a poison-induced convulsion.

“Daneera,” Denner said as she passed a coffin.

Despite herself, and to her frustration, the huntress jumped slightly at his voice. She turned to him, annoyance flashing across her face. “What?” She whispered through clenched teeth.

Denner gulped, then pointed to the stone coffin she had just passed. “It’s in there.”

“Oh,” Daneera said, turning to look at it. The stone was ornately carved, and beautifully and intricately decorated with designs that Daneera did not recognize. The coffin’s lid bore a relief sculpture of a Fae woman, her arms and wings folded gently over her chest, and a stone crown ringing her head. The huntress took a long moment to examine the coffin and the surrounding area looking for traps. When she was satisfied that there were none, she moved to grab hold of the coffin’s lid.

“Wait,” Denner said, his voice shaking. “Are…are you sure this is a good idea?”

She glared at him. “You’re the one who said there’s a Fae crown in here.”

“I know,” Denner said. “And there is, it’s just, I mean, I didn’t know it was going to be in a, well, you know.”

Daneera sighed. “Look, Denner, I don’t feel any better about grave robbing than you do, I assure you. The dead have no need of the things they’re buried with, but I don’t like the thought of disturbing their rest. Still, this person’s descendant abducted the man I love, and if this is the only way to get him back, then I will!”

Daneera turned around, but before she could touch the coffin, an ear-shattering shriek cut through the silence of the mausoleum. Both planeswalkers dropped their torches and covered their ears, trying desperately to protect themselves from the sound, but fortunately, the noise only lasted a few short seconds. Unfortunately, when they looked upward, they saw a huge, floating shadow hovering above the coffin. Its face, roughly that of a Fae woman but horribly contorted, stared down at them. Its otherworldly expression was unreadable.

Both Daneera and Denner could feel the cold of the tomb close around them, as if this creature’s mere appearance had taken some small shred of their lives from them. Daneera felt as though a thousand dark fingers were closing around her, as if the marshes themselves were rising up to suffocate her in response to this spirit’s arrival. Denner, whether consciously or not, started to back away from it. Both of them stared upward, horrified and transfixed, as the undead shadow glared down at them.

Then the spirit began to drift toward them.

Daneera reacted by instinct and drew her knife, having no idea whether or not ordinary steel could harm a ghost or not. She never got the opportunity to find out, though, as the spirit dodged away from her strike with frightening fluidity. Before she could attack again or the ghost could, Denner was acting, once more relying on his illusions, his only line of defense. Directly in front of the ghost, Denner projected the image of a Fae woman. The instant the ghost saw the image, it shrieked again and, to Denner’s surprise, seemed to turn and flee in the other direction.

“Hurry!” Denner yelled to Daneera, who did not need to be told twice. Activating her strength enchantments, Daneera grabbed the coffin’s lid and slid it to one side. There, in the coffin, were the long-dead remains of a Fae, and slumped awkwardly over the skull was a golden crown with a faceted onyx gem set in the front. Without hesitating, Daneera grabbed the crown, replaced the lid, grabbed her fallen torch, took Denner by the wrist, and started running for the mausoleum’s entrance.

At first, Denner was able to keep up, but then he started feeling the onslaught of one of his convulsive attacks. He tried to warn Daneera to go on without him, but before he could find the air to speak, the attack hit, dropping the Delver hard to the stone floor. Denner’s convulsion was so strong that it even tore his wrist away from Daneera’s enhanced grasp, and the huntress spun around immediately as she realized what was happening. She was trying to decide if she could pick him up and carry him without hurting him when a shadow fell over them again, and the spirit returned.

Daneera stood in between the ghost and the Delver and held her long knife out threateningly. The ghost edged closer, but then stopped short of Daneera’s reach. Then, surprisingly, the ghost seemed to hold its arms out, as if in peace.

“Please,” the ghost said, its voice echoing as if from another world. “Please, I wish you no harm.”

“Don’t you?” Daneera challenged, uncertain.

“Please just tell me, is what you said true?”

“What?”

“Did one of my descendants abduct the man you love?”

Daneera froze, shocked. Had this ghost been listening to them the entire time? Finally, Daneera nodded. “I believe so. I was told that he was taken by a Fae nobleman named Glim Murkwisp.”

The shadowy spirit flared in obvious anger. “Nobleman! Never!” After a few moments, the spirit returned to its normal size. “Glim Murkwisp is my grandson, but he is no noble. The Murkwisp line was to die with me.”

“What do you mean?” Daneera asked, suddenly feeling very strange about having a conversation with a ghost.

The spirit seemed to hang her incorporeal head. “When I lived, I found my line had grown dark. My brothers and sisters were horrible, my nieces and nephews deplorable, and my children even worse. Even as a child, Glim was worse than all of them. I could not allow such people to carry the title of ‘noble.’ As Matriarch of the Murkwisp family, I decreed that I would be the last Murkwisp noble, and my death would end the line.”

“Then how is Glim Murkwisp still at the Fae Courts.”

“I do not know,” the spirit admitted. “My portrait keeps me locked in this tomb, and even if I could go beyond, in death, my power is all but gone.”

Daneera straightened, and lowered her knife. “I need to find a way to stop Glim Murkwisp, before I lose Kerik forever.”

“If my crown will aid you, take it with my blessing. It seems I could not prevent what I sought to by taking it with me to the grave.”

“You are giving it to me?”

The spirit seemed to nod. “I am glad to be rid of the thing. I have felt it like a leaden weight since I have been laid to rest.”

“I can bring it back to you, once I’ve finished with Glim.”

“Do not,” the ghost said. “It is yours now. That is the Fae way. What is your name?”

“Daneera.”

“Then, Daneera, I confer upon you the title of Lady Daneera, Fae noble.”

Daneera nodded once, and turned to look down at Denner, who was just recovering. The Delver looked up at the ghost. “Thank you, Lady Hyra.”

The ghost bowed her head, turned away, and floated back toward her coffin. Daneera quickly helped the Delver to his feet and together, they left the mausoleum, Fae Crown and silk-wrapped viper both in their possession. Once they were beyond the rusted iron gate, Daneera turned to Denner.

“How did you know that was Hyra Murkwisp?”

“I took a guess,” Denner said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Hyra was the last portrait, so I figured it would make sense if she had the crown. When I made my illusion of Hyra, and the ghost fled, I figured I had guessed right.”

“Smart man,” Daneera said, looking away. When she looked back, her eyes were hard, and serious. “Denner. Thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Denner smiled awkwardly and held up the trapped Glide Viper. “Same here.”

The huntress nodded. “What will you do now?”

“I’m not sure,” Denner said, his voice cracking. “I’ll try to look for the last poison, I guess, but if I can’t find it…”

“Never give up, Denner,” Daneera said, locking gazes with him.

“I still have promises to keep, and if there’s no point…”

“Then keep a promise to me,” she said. “Promise me that you won’t give up.”

Denner stared at her for a long time, but finally nodded and looked downward. “I promise, Daneera. I won’t give up.”

Daneera nodded and then, just slightly, smiled. “Now get out of here. You have a cure to find.”

Denner smiled back. “And you have a Kerik to rescue.”

“Yes I do,” Daneera said gravely. “Good luck, Denner.”

“Good luck, Daneera.” Denner Fabellian took a deep breath, prepared himself, and then ‘walked away from Morvata.

Daneera hung her head. She hoped Denner could find what he was looking for. She hoped he could live up to his title of Delver. And as she glanced down at the crown in her hand, the huntress, now Fae noble, hoped that she could, as well.