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By Teeuwynn

The following story is a verbatim transcription of an eyewitness account of one of the most important events in recent Jamuuran history. — Taysir.

I’m not certain where to begin . . . or why you want me to tell this tale. Kulinda or Jerran could tell it better . . . ah, but their wounds are still healing. Well then, I’ll tell you what I saw and heard for myself. I can vouch for nothing else, and what I can attest to is fantastic enough for ten tales. Well then, this is the story of how the mage Mangara was set free from his terrible, unlawful prison. And, as you know, if it was not for Mangara’s help we would never have beaten Kaervek‘s magic and undead minions.

I have fought in Scalebane’s army for over a year now, and no warrior could wish a more inspiring, brave leader than Rashida Scalebane. I would die for that woman — indeed, I almost did. Less than a fortnight past, Rashida called three warriors to her tent: myself, Kulinda, and Jerran. Wasting no words, Rashida explained that she had chosen us to accompany her and a few others on a special mission, a mission to save the mage Mangara. At these words Kulinda gasped, and I nearly did as well. Mangara had disappeared many months ago. How could Rashida know he was imprisoned, let alone where he was trapped.

Nodding sharply at Kulinda, Rashida answered only that all would be explained that could be explained by the prophetess Asmira, who had joined our encampment only hours before. “At dawn we will again meet in this tent and Asmira and I shall tell you all we can of our quest.” Telling us to prepare to leave immediately after the dawn meeting, Rashida bowed her head over her legendary dragonslaying banesword. The first gathering of Scalebane’s Elite was at an end.

Restless and nervous after a troubled night’s sleep, we met once more in Rashida’s tent at dawn. Asmira was already waiting within, seated upon the floor herder-style. Asmira was smaller than I imagined, but her dark eyes reflected both confidence and conviction. Clad in white and gold garments mixing both Femeref and Zhalfiran styles, the great prophetess Asmira greeted us with the most serene smile I have ever seen. “Greetings and thanks, Children of Fate,” the prophetess began. “In recent days great omens have wafted across our land on the wings of dreams. I have felt their feathery touch, as has your leader, Rashida. Now is our chance to free Mangara from the stone in which he has long been imprisoned.”

“What sort of stone could imprison a mage?” Jerran asked in his sing-song whisper.

“An amber prison,” Rashida answered. “It is a magical stone into which a mage may thrust any single being.”

“And the being may remain trapped there for an infinity of eternities if he is not freed,” Asmira concluded. “It is our responsibility to free Mangara from this prison. The dreams have told us where Mangara’s prison lies . . . a handful or more days travel into the Mwonvuli Jungle. We must begin our journey at once if we are to have any hope of rescuing Mangara before Kaervek’s might grows beyond all hope of stopping him.”

“But what is our role in all this?” I asked. “We are only warriors and not many in number.”

“You are my warriors and the heart of all Jamuura beats in your breasts,” Rashida answered.

“And you are so few in number because we do not believe more warriors could avoid many of Kaervek’s patrols,” Asmira finished. “But come, gather your things, it is time for us to begin the Lion’s Eye Quest.”

As we gathered our gear together I thought on the ancient saying — “Caught in the Lion’s Eye.” Yes, if ever there was a moment of crisis, we were walking into it. And with that thought I joined my fellows to confront our fate.

The next few days are mostly a blur to me. We did our best to avoid Kaervek’s patrols, but there were far more than even Rashida had predicted. Attempting evasion in the plains proved difficult. Alternately battling and avoiding the undead patrols, we reached the final hill overlooking the jungle far later than we had hoped. We could all see Rashida’s nerves grow raw as time drained away from us. Even Asmira’s face began to appear ashen with worry on the third day as we neared the final hill.

But at the end of that day as we crested the final rise, we found new hope in the form of the flying ship, Weatherlight. Rushing up to the ship’s captain, Sisay, Rashida demanded to know how and why she was here. The slightly embarrassed captain responded that she had had a dream that bade her come to this very spot. Although I’m sure Sisay thought Asmira and Rashida would think her crazy for flying her ship into the middle of an enemy-infested plain because of a dream, our leaders merely nodded. After all, the Lion’s Eye Quest itself was the stuff of dreams.

It took only a few minutes to scramble up rope ladders and climb aboard the Weatherlight. On board, Sisay’s crew were fewer in number than I would have expected, but Sisay said she was still rebuilding. I wish there had been time to speak to her crew, particularly the sharp-eyed minotaur, but exhaustion and the need for all hands to man the ship did not give me the chance. Perhaps I will be able to buy Sisay and her crew a round of drinks at a tavern on some future night.

Now, where was I? . . . Oh, yes, Sisay and the Weatherlight immediately set sail through the still jungle air. You’d think flying through sky would be much smoother than riding the ocean’s waves, but it really isn’t. The Weatherlight constantly hummed and vibrated as we cut our way through the air. We flew in one day what would have taken us five or more on the ground. Without the Weatherlight we would have lost crucial days and perhaps the war.

When we finally landed, we found ourselves outside a small palace just beginning to decay. Vines covered much of the western wall, but the rest of the squat edifice was still relatively unmarred. A large metal door blocked our way into the compound, but it proved little impediment to us. With Asmira leading us into the palace, we passed through two long hallways in complete silence, unbothered by guards of any kind. Then silence became screams and Kaervek’s dread minions descended upon our small group.

The battle through the palace seemed to last for days. Have you ever fought continuously for your life for hours on end? It is a constant battle to maintain the shield of hope, to not give in to the terror surrounding you. Yet, we persevered. If it were not for our dragonscale armor and other magical protections, we never would have survived the assault. But survive we did, and made slow progress into the fortress until at last we saw the amber prison floating within a scintillating beam of white light.

As Asmira managed to push closer to the amber prison, Kaervek’s forces began to pummel us with magical fire and other terrors. Jerran was badly burned several times over and it is a wonder he survived at all. I remember little of the next few minutes save the struggle to remain standing. I remember seeing Asmira reach the amber prison . . . I remember seeing the holy one bend her head in concentration over the magical stone, her face ghostly in the magical beam’s sharp light. Then my sight was overwhelmed by the forces in front of me and I was sure I would fall at any moment.

It was then that a terrible shrieking howl echoed through the chamber and I saw Rashida and Scalebane dancing through the undead with the grace of a thousand cheetahs. Even when fighting dragons, I had never seen Rashida fight so well or so dexterously. On her face she wore a mask crafted of dragonskin, and its eyes, blazing with yellow fury, were not Rashida’s. Rashida must have killed two score or more of Kaervek’s minions in the time it took me to slay one. But such a display of valor does not come without cost. Just as I reached our leader she collapsed in complete exhaustion. Standing over Rashida’s body to keep what remained of Kaervek’s forces from harming her, I looked again to Asmira.

And in that moment I forgot the jungle heat as my blood froze in my veins. For as Asmira raised the amber prison in triumph a darkling panther warrior-woman leapt from ambush towards the holy warrior. Even as I screamed a warning, I recognized the legendary slayer Purraj of Urborg. As my scream echoed, too late to warn Asmira, Purraj’s knife dug deeply into Asmira’s back. Arching backwards Asmira ignored the terrible blow, managing to whisper out the last words of her spell to free Mangara. Her ritual complete, the amber prison suddenly glowed with such ferocity I could no longer bear to look on it.

When the blinding shaft of light faded all of Kaervek’s forces lay dead around us and a middle-aged man in strange clothes stood where Asmira and Purraj had grappled seconds before. Of Purraj and Asmira there was no sign. Perhaps they were both consumed in the amber prison’s shattering light.

Rashida stirred below me, and as I helped the shaken warrior onto her feet I saw her eyes meet Mangara’s. With a deep bow the freed mage disappeared in a glimmer of pale white light.

Of course, you know the rest. Mangara confronted Kaervek and managed to prevail against the dark mage and his overextended resources. Now Kaervek lies within the very stone that so long held Mangara prisoner. It seems a fitting punishment. Asmira has officially been granted the title of Holy Avenger, but I fear it may be a posthumous honor. As for Purraj . . . I have no idea but I am sure if Asmira fell, then so did that Urborg assassin.

I grow tired now, and I must check on Jerran. I hope my tale has been of some use to you.

May you never live in the Lion’s Eye.

— Forena, Scalebane’s Elite.