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Alrighty, finally got the next one done... I have still got one last one to do before I am done with this section. Been planning this for a while...

As always comments are appreciated and requested.

*Edit: For some reason I can't figure out, when I uploaded this, originally, it somehow uploaded a version from before final edits. It should be correct this time, and I apologize to anyone who noticed errors before I fixed it.

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continued from 'The Grand Council'...

The hot sun of late summer that made the day seem almost promising in the early morning was now veiled in the clouds of an impending storm, the air in the amphitheater seemed humid and close, as hot as the southern jungles. Many of the priests and warriors, even the Slayers clad all in white and silver, were sweating in the unusual heat, suffering in the cloying air. Only the Targath, the servants of the Spirit of Fire, seemed comfortable, or perhaps, unperturbed would be a better term. Comfortable didn't seem to describe anyone in the amphitheater, not even the grey clad hunters who alone were free to get up and stretch their legs. But as if the close, oppressive air was not enough, all of the delegates seemed determined to increase the pressure on the others.

Looking up at the clouds, Julianna found herself wishing that the darkening clouds would rain, if only so there would be a break in the Council. It had begun mere moments after the Elder Slayer had greeted the other orders. As was proper, the Elder had started with what should have been minor business, things that would, on any other occasion, have made the various groups more comfortable with one another by offering up easy agreements, things meant to allow all to begin the real business already having gained something that they desired. Instead, every little detail seemed to be a point upon which one group had an issue with another over. The Elder Slayer had begun by asking the Ovniran for a few more of their forge priests to assist in the making of more weapons with the characteristic blend of silver and jade that the Slayers used in order to keep up with the ever increasing number of initiates the order had these days; a measure that the Ovniran never refused, after all, it was a chance not only to practice their faith, but also to help protect their followers from the demons. But, before the head of the forge priests could so much as say a word, the Lord of the Lance interrupted, objecting to the request.

For a few moments, there had been silence, and then a murmur of surprise and discord had rippled up the section housing the white and silver clad warriors. Such a request had literally nothing whatsoever to do with the Nightlancers, so they shouldn't have had any objections. Then, obviously covering his surprise at having been interrupted so rudely, the Elder Slayer had asked the Lord of the Lance why he objected to it, trying to remain polite. The Nightlancer leader had answered that it had been proven long ago that the hybrid weapons of the Slayers were the most effective tools to combat the demons, and that for too long, the Slayers of Auré had kept those weapons to themselves. Further, he claimed, the only fair thing to do was for all demon hunters, regardless of order, to have armories of those weapons on hand to use in their shared struggles. The leader of the Slayers had started to answer the demand, when the Archon of the Chosen stood in her seat, and had said, almost quietly, and yet firmly, that the Chosen of Alarand had no need for such weapons, their own techniques having served them well enough for millennia, and further, that the Nightlancers had not been invited to speak for the Chosen. And then, the Nightlancer leader had replied with a biting remark about the Chosen being nothing more than lapdogs for the Slayers.

As any sane individual with an ounce of awareness would have known, that particular remark sent the Chosen into an uproar, and despite being outnumbered by the Nightlancers present nearly two to one, the green and brown clad warriors seized their weapons, a few even drawing their swords. At the flash of their silver blades, the leather clad Lancers leapt up as well, setting the black spears they all carried as if to receive a charge. Only the grey cloaked Hunters, who leapt between the two groups, heedless of the danger they faced by doing so, kept the argument from turning bloody. While the Elder Slayer slammed the hilt of his blade into the table, shouting for order, the Archon glared her followers back into their seats, the Lancers grinning at them across the aisle as if they had won some great victory by not being attacked by the Chosen. Once they had quieted, the Elder had explained that, aside from the Slayers of Auré being followers of the Sun God, and therefore being entitled to use Jade in their weapons, the Ovniran were paid a great price by the Slayers for their talents, a price the Nightlancers had never been willing to offer. The Lord of the Lance had then said that, since each battalion was raised and cared for by the individual Lords, they had never had the resources to pay such a sum, and that therefore, either the Slayers should pay for arms for the Lancers, in spirit of cooperation, or else the Ovniran should create such weapons for free, since they, like the others, were sheltered by the three fighting orders.

Naturally, that had set off the proud forge priests, who had immediately started shouting at the Lancers, who had shouted back at them, and again the Hunters had intervened, interposing themselves between the Forge Priests and the Nightlancers, a single line of grey, impossibly thin, yet neither group dared to move toward them. And, as the argument had grown more and more heated, the head of the Ovniran had shouted that, since they alone possessed the knowledge of the technique required to blend silver and jade into a single, unbreakable whole, they alone knew the price to set for them. But that remark had incensed the Covarus, the Wise Master rising in his place, and though the old man had kept his voice calm, he had assured the richly clad leader of the forge priests that not only did the Covarus possess the secret as well, they had discovered the method first, which, by their own admission, entitled them to decide what it was worth. This, of course, made the Forge priests angry in their turn, though the Hunters stayed where they were. Even angry, the Covarus did not fight, one of their oaths being one of pacifism.

Needless to say, what should have been a simple request between two orders had degenerated into an hour long shouting match that had somehow ended up in a debate with the Covarus and the Ovniran dragging out historical facts and myths thousands of years old, each intending to prove that it was their order who had first created the art of blending metal and stone. At first, the Elder Slayer had tried to restore order and bring the talk back to the point, but he had been resolutely ignored, as had the exasperated Lord of the Lance who had started it in the first place, both men settling back in their chairs with frustration. Then, right in the middle of yet another story of the exploits of one of the Forge priests, the speaker for the Myro had ended it.

Managing a smile, Julianna remembered the moment fondly. The man had casually leaned his chair back and put his feet up on the table before him, crossing his legs while he looked up at the sky. Then, he had begun strumming the golden harp he carried, playing a simple, calm tune like a ballad that was so beautiful in tone, and played so perfectly, that it sunk into the heart like a draft of golden wine. Everyone instantly fell silent to listen, even the astonished Forge priest who had been interrupted. The harper had gone on playing and humming softly to the tune for a while, then had looked up as if he had suddenly become aware of the silence that surrounded him. Looking between the startled faces turned in his direction, he had shaken his head, opening his hands as if surprised.

"Oh, please, don't stop on my account." He had said, "I just thought I would do something to pass the time while you argued your useless point of contention." Julianna had been one of the many who had laughed at that statement. The Ovniran had gone bright red in the face, but the Myro harper had gone on as if he hadn't noticed. "What does it matter who came up with the technique first? Even if it was the Covarus, they do not possess the strength or the skill to use it, nor do they have the ability to pass it on to others." Then, while the Wise Master and the forge priest looked down in shame for their arguing, the harper turned his attention to the Nightlancer lord. "And, since the Ovniran are the only ones capable to using the power, it would seem that your objection, my lord, is groundless. Since you deem the craft of the Ovniran worthy of such desire, it seems only fair that the craftsman be paid their price for it. So, it would seem to me, that you face the same simple choice you have faced for millennia. Decide to meet their price, or not. Either way, this does not seem the time to argue over it. Now, would the two of you care to move on before the rest of us fall asleep?"

"Thank you, Master Orynas." The Elder said, smiling and the Harper had given a seated bow. And at last, they had moved on. For all of about five minutes, that is. The next piece of minor business was a request by the sea priests to the Kuor for some assistance with the launching of some new temple-ships, which, by their traditions, were never hammered with nails, but rather fitted together with a combination of magic and pure strength. The process made them nearly unsinkable, since there were no seams or cracks for water to enter, and the hulking, mountain-like giant who spoke for the Kuor had agreed, revealing that he possessed a quiet, and almost unassuming manner. But immediately after, the Covarus had raised an objection, stating that they also should have been consulted, since the knowledge of how to fit such ships together had been a gift from Covarus to Serid in the ancient depths of time, and the talks had broken down again.

And so, hour after hour, the council had dragged on, while the air grew hotter and more muggy, debate after debate, argument after argument, and still they had not come any nearer to the main reason the Council had been called together. Looking around the amphitheater, Julianna met the gaze of her lover, the grey werewolf flashing her a smile from where he sat on one of the steps with Hunter Feanor, the one armed human stroking the pummel of the longsword he wore at his side with his fingertips, seemingly out of habit. For the first few hours, the Hunters had patrolled around the rings, interceding whenever an argument seemed likely to turn violent, walking up and down the aisles, vigilant for attackers. Then, as the debates had dragged on and on, they had found seats on the steps, or else found places out of the way to stand, talking quietly with their fellows while the debates raged, still keeping an eye on things, but just as bored with the whole affair as most of the priests seemed.

Whenever a debate seemed to be ending, Julianna had perked up, hoping that at last, they had come to the point, but as each new debate was raised, that hope had quailed within her. Eventually, she had begun to feel drowsy from sitting in the sun doing nothing while others argued, and it became all she could do to keep her head off her folded arms, her attention only half on what was being said. Now, as the afternoon wore on, it was all she could do to keep her eyes open, the wolf spirit in her heart having long ago dozed off already. Then, even as she turned her gaze from her lover to wish for rain once more, the Elder Slayer rose in his place and looked around the amphitheater, complete silence falling for once and the white werewolf perked up once more, sitting straight in her chair.

"Now that we have concluded our minor business, I propose that we move on to our reason for calling all who are present here together." He said, meeting the gaze of each speaker in turn. "Unless there is some objection?" At this last question, Julianna spoke a silent prayer to Auré that there would be none and they could all get on with it. No doubt, many present were doing the same. For a long minute, there was silence, then, the Elder went on, a collective sigh of relief passing through the upper levels as he did so. "Very well. In that case, the High Priest of the Temple of Solaria will speak. I ask that none interrupt, until he has finished, as this must be told in full before we can rightly consider its import." At his words, the Priest rose from his chair, distinctive in green and gold, the sash of spun metal indicating his rank winking in the sunlight.

"It was by the request of our order that this council be called. In the last year, our seers have experienced darker and darker visions, despite all of the gains we have made in our long conflict with the demonic forces. We would have paid this no more mind than we have on such occasions in the past, if not for one vision. About a month ago, the Seers of our order all shared a single vision; all of them, at the same moment, all over the world." He began, the power in his voice unmistakable, the air that surrounded him shimmering like a mirage. As he said this, some of the higher ranked members of other orders shook their heads, their expressions dark. "As you all may or may not be aware, in all of our long history, this has only happened three times before. The first, was just before the great kingdom fell, and the world was thrown into ruin and chaos. The second, came before the siege on the Slayerhold itself, in the last years of the dark time that followed. And the third and last, came just before the sack of the great temple at Emerin, when all of the priests there were slain, and many of the guardian orders as well. Ever before now, we have puzzled these visions alone, and always, we have found our answers too late, and paid a heavy price for our delay. It is our hope that by calling this gathering, we might at last stave off the disaster that we cannot doubt is coming."

"In the shared vision, we saw the fabled Fountain of Auré, the spring from which our powers first came. It stood in a grove of the sacred trees beloved by the sun, surrounded on all sides by a vast and empty plain of grass. But, the vision darkened, the sky grey shrouded as if by a storm. The grass perished as if diseased, the trees choking in the darkness. And the fountain itself became dark and corrupt, flowing with waters the shade of blood. And only then, did the clouds begin to clear, and the sky burned orange, a sickly hue we have never seen before." A shudder seemed to pass through the crowd of priests and warriors, the description of the vision sending a chill down the spine of anyone listening. "Even more serious to our mind, this vision, this dark image, was also shared by two present here, not of the seer order." And this, the high priest turned and indicated Galen, who stood up, looking tall and proud before the attention of the delegates and then to Julianna. All eyes turned towards the werewolves and Julianna swallowed nervously, the weight of the entire gathering seeming to rest upon her all at once, like a great smothering blanket, many doubting gazes making her want to hide her face, wishing she knew some way to vanish. But, beneath the gaze of so many, the wolf spirit suddenly woke within her, joining fully with her once more, surging from its corner of her mind, and she shook off the weight, raising her head defiantly. Let them doubt, if they would, she and her love knew what they had seen, and more, knew where the thing may be found.

"This last detail, shows that this is not the faint musings of dreams, nor a vague warning, as sometimes seer visions can be." The priest continued, drawing attention back to himself. "Often since that night, have the details of the vision returned, more and more frequently. It is our fear that this means it will soon come to pass. The purpose of this gathering is to determine what we will do to prevent this horrible event from taking place." For a few long minutes after the priest returned to his seat, there was utter silence in the open roofed chamber as each digested the news, then, finally, the Myro harper rose from his seat, looking around the circle of speakers.

"I realize that we followers of Myro are here mostly as guests, since we are not a warlike order, nor do we have much effect on the conflict," Master Orynas began, seeming to be making an effort to be more polite than he had been earlier. "So please, do not think this question a challenge of any one. But, with respect, that vision seems to only affect the followers of Auré, and not the rest of us. We Myro draw the powers we possess from our music, not from enchanted waters or fountains."

"Indeed." The Ovniran leader said, rising in her place, and placing both hands on the table top. "Our powers, like many here, lie in craft, not in battle. Should this vision come, nothing will change for us."

"That is not true." The Wise Master of Covarus interjected, rising in his turn, his quiet voice carrying the same impact as a warrior's shout. "If the Slayers and Priests of Auré, long the strongest and most devoted enemies of the dark ones were to lose their power, or else fall to darkness, all of us here would be affected equally."

"Aye, I agree with the Covarus." The wizened Master of Tides called, rising in his seat, his voice like to the distant rumble of thunder over storm tossed seas. "We all have a stake in this. At the least, the servants of Auré are our allies, and friends, ever staunch in their support, never failing to come to our aid when we have needed them."

"And what stake would the Serid claim to have?" The young leader of the Targath asked, glaring at the wizened master, an edge to his voice that sent the grey cloaked hunters to their feet once more. "Why are you even here? You and your fellows hardly come ashore at all. What could you possibly have to do with what happens on land?"

"Gentleman, please, let us return to the..." The Elder Slayer began to say, but the old follower of Serid cut him off, his eyes narrowed with rage, his voice almost echoing now with his power.

"What stake do we have?!" The old man repeated, "Listen well, boy. While you and your kind sit in your temples and toy with fires, we alone guard the seas. There are demons in the depths of the sea far stronger and more terrible than anything that is seen on land. Every year, we lose more priests and crew in fighting them than your pathetic faith will gain in a decade. And the fight is only growing worse. The temple fleet has never been so busy. Even now, there is battle on the high seas, and we are threatened."

"You dare to call us pathetic, old man?!" The young man shouted, his eyes blazing. Even as he spoke, fire kindled at his fingertips, surrounding his hands and beginning to crawl up his arms. "Challenge us again, if you dare. Then we will see who is pathetic." At the sudden display of magic, the Master of Tides clenched his hands into fists and to the amazement of all present, the roiling tempest that was tattooed across his chest suddenly seem to come to life, rolling up his arms and down towards his hands, lightning crackling across his knuckles. Already, the Hunters were in motion, moving between the two men even as the rest of both orders leapt to assist their leaders. But, just as the two men looked as if they might actually attack one another, Julianna felt a sudden tingle run the length of her spine, from the tips of her ears down to her tail. Shivering, the female werewolf felt all her fur stand on end and she looked around in confusion.

Across the amphitheater from her, she could see that Galen was likewise looking about himself, but on his face, unnoticeable except to her, was a look she had not seen before. It was not quite fear, but more a sense of foreboding, as if he hoped against hope that what he knew was coming wasn't on its way. And, a moment or two later, everyone present, even the two priesthoods that seemed intent on killing each other fell utterly silent, all looking around in confusion, feeling the same, strange prickly sensation. And then, Julianna felt the wolf spirit in her heart suddenly leap to attention, almost seeming to be pleading for her to move, to run far away. And, moments later, she knew that the source of the feeling was getting closer by the moment. Then, a murmur suddenly passed down the sections occupied by the Covarus and the Ovniran, the priests and monks shying away from the aisle between them.

Appearing at the top of those stairs as if by magic, was a small knot of six people. One was a man with eyes wide in fear, wild as if in the throes of madness, a medallion about his neck that kindled a sudden flame of anger in her, an ancient rage that came from her wolf spirit, even as it strained to hide away. What symbol exactly it portrayed was impossible to tell, because it seemed to change even as one made out what it was, altering its hue, material and shape, and yet, all present recognized it instantly. The medallion was the mark only worn by the followers of Kreol the Ever Changing, the dark god of trickery, the being that had enslaved the wolf spirits in the depths of time under the guise of helping them. The man was obviously a highly placed cultist of some sort, perhaps even the leader of a cult. But, though the presence of such a man in this place was enough to kindle anger and disgust in the delegates, it was the other five that were the source of the strange feeling, for they were more fearsome, and awe inspiring than any cultist.

It was impossible to tell the five from one another, or even if they were male or female, all seemingly identical. Each wore a robe of pure, light leeching black, so plain and uniform that their forms almost seemed to be indistinct, their identity anonymous. Each of the black clad priests also wore a hood drawn low, and a close fitting cowl like a mask that covered their faces completely, not even their eyes visible. What was more, either because of some magic woven into the cloth, or perhaps it was because the make of their clothing was so precise, there seemed almost to be a shimmer about them that blurred their outlines, almost as if they were not wholly there, merely shadows, insubstantial and transient. The herald didn't say a word as they made their way into the amphitheater, nor did he need to. Despite the lack of any mark to distinguish them, everyone who looked on them knew precisely who and what they were, and more, exactly why the cultist seemed terrified, trapped between four of them. Even if they couldn't see them, everyone knew these priests by their power. Where a commoner could feel a faint sensation from a priest, even the dullest could feel the alien, wholly otherworldly power of these priests, for their power felt like nothing else in the world. These five were the followers of Tanser, the God of Death, and simply being in their presence made one feel as if someone was walking on their grave.

Many of the uninitiated considered the Tanser to be evil, their worship unnatural and frightening, and most commoners shunned them as if they carried some plague. But all priests and demon hunters recognized a simple truth about them. As unnatural as it seemed, the priesthood of Tanser followed true neutrality, taking no part in the war between the gods of good and the gods of evil, for the god of death, it was said, was the eldest of the gods, so ancient that the conflict mattered not at all to him. Before the schism and the war, before even the gods awoke, Tanser had watched over the world. For Death comes to all things, good and evil alike, even to the gods themselves, as Galen had proven in the Demon Realm.

Naturally, the temples devoted to Tanser were always in remote places, hidden from the eyes of the world, even as the initiated hid their forms behind veils on the rare occasions the reclusive faith ventured forth. The nature of their clothing and the rarity of their emergence had prevented anyone from so much as making a guess at how many followed Tanser. Fewer than most faiths, most said, but more than enough, all agreed. And though it would have been the natural impulse of all present to draw a weapon to ward off the Tanser, none dared. And for a very good, if obvious, reason. The priests of Tanser held the power of life and death in their hands, and had no fear of the latter.

At the appearance of the shadowy forms of the priests, the Serid and the Targath both immediately returned to their seats, their magic flowing back into their arms as they wisely thought better of taking the chance of accidently provoking the death priests, a dead silence filling the amphitheater as the black shadows made their way to the lowest level of the amphitheater, their pace unconcerned. When the Tanser set their feet upon the stained marble, the lone priest who had led them in turned in a slow circle, hands hidden with the folds of the black sleeves of his robe, as if looking at all present, though his eyes remained hidden. At last, one of the five spoke, though Julianna knew that none present could tell which of them was talking.

"Forgive our intrusion." The voice said, and to the white werewolf's surprise, it was actually pleasant to hear, rich and warm, and very polite. "But we have word to bring to this gathering that all should hear. Some time ago, when your seers had the vision that you were discussing, this one," at that phrase, spoken without disgust or emphasis, the cultist stepped forward, falling to his knees as if some force had hold of him, forcing him to move, "and others of his faith, came to our temple, asking us to join them in their struggle against you. We sent them away, as we have always done. They came back a second time soon after, offering riches and power to dazzle even mighty kings, and still we turned them away, warning them not to return. They disregarded our warning, and came once more. Their messengers went into the embrace of Tanser on that day, and we sent their bodies back to their comrades. Then, some days later, demons came to assail our temple, to what end, we could not guess." The voice paused in its speech, and Julianna caught the barest hint of the leader of the quintet shaking his head beneath his hood.

"These too, we embraced, and, to prevent them from coming again, we went to the cult to end their intrusions once and for all. But, when Tanser took the others, this one was spared, so that he might be here today, to speak the news he carries. Listen well, for these words will be his last."

"Our lord Kreol, the almighty and ever changing," The cultist began after a moment, his voice quavering at first, but growing stronger, as if speaking a sermon to his followers. His eyes were wide, unseeing, and it was clear he had no idea where he was. "Sought the Tanser in vengeance for his slain brother, Redamarc the Revered, Lord of Blood. For his death is a moment unrivaled in history, an act that has never before occurred. In recompense for this crime, Redamarc's brothers will take the fountain so beloved by their foe, Auré, the hated and reviled, and in so doing, even the ledger, balancing the scales of power. Their forces are marshalling and soon, they will be unleashed upon the world in a glorious dark tide, sweeping aside all others, drowning it in blood, and so be a rightful tribute to their fallen kin. Hail the Blessings of the True gods, the almighty powers, greatest of..." Before the cultist could continue his dark benediction, the lead Tanser priest at last revealed something of himself. Reaching out with his left hand, which alone seemed distinct, uncovered by cloth, almost white in color from being so long hidden, he touched the cultist's temple gently with one finger, almost a caress and the man went suddenly rigid, his eyes widening more than before, almost bulging out of their sockets for an instant, then he collapsed into a heap, going still as he died.

"This we heard, and this Tanser sent us to reveal to you." The priest said, returning his hand to the folds of his black robe. "And more besides." For a moment, he paused, seeming to be looking around the circle once more. "All know that Tanser watches over all worlds, not simply this one. And we are commanded to speak his words to you. There are powers stirring in the worlds, ancient powers that have not been seen since the beginning. This world stands on the cusp of a great change, a crossroad that will decide the future." At this, the lead priest seemed to look in the direction of the Serid and the Targath, both leaders shifting uncomfortably in their seats. "If the Auré fall to their foes through this act, there will be none left unaffected, for the Fountain is more than simply the source of power for the Sun priests. All faiths, good, evil, and neutral, exist in balance to one another. None should be so naïve to believe that what affects one will not affect the others." At this, the shadowy figures bowed, then turned and began to walk up the stairs once more.

"Pardon my question," The high priest of Solaria interjected into the silence as the Tanser stopped talking. "But surly there must be more to your words than this. Have you no council that you would offer?"

"No. We have been neutral since the war began, and neutral we shall remain." The Tanser replied, all five of them continuing back up the steps they had descended, leaving the dead cultist behind. "The demons have dared to interfere with our affairs, and so we have brought word to you of this as a consequence. This we will do, and no more. Our business here is concluded." No one else dared to speak as they left, and even when they were gone, it was a few minutes before anyone found the courage to speak. Oddly, it was the youthful Targath that rose first, speaking softly, the light in his dark eyes dimmed, almost subdued, clearly shaken by the Tanser's words.

"Forgive me, Master of Tides." He said, looking at his counterpart. "I spoke rashly, and it was unworthy of me to do so. I spoke only as we are wont to do among our own."

"There is naught to forgive, High Priest." The old man replied, rising in his place. "I too, spoke harshly. I regret the insult I offered in my pride. You spoke rightly when you stated we do not often encounter members of other faiths. It seems I have forgotten my courtesies." When the two had bowed to one another, everyone seemed to take a deep, collective breath, two Argent Guardsmen descending into the amphitheater to remove the corpse the Tanser had left behind, and finally, the Myro Harper rose again to speak.

"The Tanser have answered my question, I suppose." He said, seeming shaken. "But still, we do not seem to have gotten anywhere. Though, I believe I may assume we are resolved to act, what can we do? In none of our songs or legends are there any clues to the location of the Fountain. Do the Covarus not know, or the Auré themselves?"

"No, I am afraid not." The Wise Master replied, shaking his head. "Unfortunately, there are still things that even we do not know." When the Master said this, Julianna found her gaze drawn across the narrow space, meeting the gaze of her mate, and when their eyes met, the same, sudden conclusion passed between them. After a moment's hesitation, the grey werewolf she loved nodded, and she drew a deep breath to prepare herself. Then, she stood, clearing her throat, and all eyes turned towards her once more. Before her human self could shy away from the attention once more, the former princess forged on, speaking loud enough that all could hear her words.

"Elder Slayer," She began, and the old man looked at her in surprise. When she paused to collect herself, she saw Anton Galnikin give a slight nod of encouragement, the sire of her mate seeming to agree that the time was right. "May I have leave to address the council?"

"You may." He replied, giving a nod. "I recognize Julianna, of the Royal house of Gulnia, present by the leave of the High Priests of Auré."

"As the High Priest of Solaria stated earlier," She began, raising a hand slightly to indicate her beloved, "Hunter Galen and I have shared in the vision of the Seers. We do not know why, or how, that is possible, for neither of us have ever possessed the gift. But last night, the two of us experienced another vision, one that we believe shows us the way to find the Fountain." A murmur of amazement passed through the gathering, but the white werewolf ignored it, catching sight of the look of Danos' face as she launched into an description of the tunnel into the ridge, the artifact, and the vision they had seen. The look the scarred councilman was giving her was one of absolute hatred, his face going deep red and she knew at once that what Galen's father had said was true. The paranoid councilman would have blocked all attempts that the two of them would have made in bringing the words to the council's attention. But, since the Elder had recognized her right to speak, there was nothing he could do to block it coming out, save by shouting her down. But he had apparently retained enough reason not to do such a foolish thing. Finally, when she had finished their tale, she looked across at the Wise Master, who was looking thoughtful. "Galen believes that the first image we saw, the flat topped peak in the distance, is one of the mountains of the range far to the north of the Slayerhold, though the rest are a mystery."

"I believe he is right." The Wise Master interjected before anyone else could speak, his fingers giving small twitches as if he were turning the pages of a tome. "I recall something about such a peak in the Cerolus mountains, though I cannot now remember what it was."

"So..." The harper said as Julianna regained her seat. "Is this possible? Can this vision be trusted?" When he saw Galen's ears perk up at his statement, he immediately continued, holding up a hand to forestall objections. "I of course mean no disrespect. But such visions can be difficult to divine the meaning of, even to fully trained seers."

"I believe we can trust it, Master Orynas." The Wise Master answered and the High Priests of Auré looked at him in surprise. "I may not remember precisely what is told about the peak in the vision, but even our maps have only blank spots where the heart of the Cerolus mountains should be. They are impassible on all sides, and there is a vast distance between their branches where none have ever gone, or so our histories state. If ever there was a place where the Fountain might be hidden, then that would be it." For a few moments, everyone was silent, taking in the news and then, finally, the Elder Slayer rose in his place once more.

"It would seem the matter of finding the location of the fountain is thus settled." He said, then he said a phrase that made Julianna's heart soar. "Clearly, we must make an effort to find it, and protect it. But who will go, and by what means? These questions are too great to decide now. There has been much news shared, and many arguments already this day. I move that we recess until tomorrow. All in favor?" The other eleven heads of the orders all gave their assent and Julianna had to restrain herself from letting out a cheer. "Then, I declare this council closed for the day." The sharp rap of his sword's hilt on the table were a sweeter music to the werewolf woman than all the singing of the Myro and she was one of the first to rise, heading for the top of the stairs...