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You're saying there's no truth to these tales?"
Andris's faint smile held a world of bitterness. "Sometimes truth can be found only in layers of irony."
"If that's not a jordaini proverb, it should be," Matteo retorted. "How do you know these things?"
"I read Akhlaur's grimoire," he reminded Matteo. "I know why the artifact was created, and I know what it became. It must be destroyed."
Matteo regarded his friend for a long moment "Once, I would have taken any course of action on your word alone. Forgive me, but those days have passed."
The ghostly jordain nodded. "Fair enough. You saw how the laraken drained the life force-the magical essence-of all the elves it encountered."
Matteo averted his eyes from Andris's translucent form. "Yes."
"Where did that magic go?"
He blinked, then frowned. "I assumed the laraken consumed it, as we do food."
Andris shook his head. "The laraken was only a conduit. The stolen life-forces are contained in the heart of an ancient, magic-storing gem."
"You're sure of this?" Matteo pressed.
"I saw a similar gem in the Khaerbaal Swamp. I brought it to Kiva. She shattered it. I saw the elven spirits, captive for centuries, released. Never have I seen such joy! Whenever following Kiva weighed heavily on me, I thought of that moment and my part in it."
Matteo nodded, understanding at last what had motivated his friend.
"Will you help me?" Andris pressed.
Still he hesitated. "You wish to destroy an artifact that supports King Zalathorm's reign."
"Why not? Wasn't it you who told me that no good can come of alliance with evil? You also spoke of conflict between a jordaini's three masters: truth, Halruaa, and the wizard-lords. It is time for the truth to be told, and you may have to choose between your patron and the good of Halruaa."
Perhaps this, Matteo mused, was what Zalathorm had intended. Perhaps this Cabal was the mysterious "what" that held Beatrix under enchantment.
"I will consider," he agreed. "In exchange, give me your word that you will not escape. Swear this upon your elven honor."
Something bleak and cold thawed in Andris's eyes. "I didn't think you understood what that meant to me."
"I don't, entirely, but I'm learning the importance of heritage."
He extended his hand, and they clasped wrists like comrades never parted. "You won't come to regret this," Andris vowed.
"No need. I regret it already," his friend retorted, only half in jest.
The corridor ended in a locked gate.
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