The Restless Shore by James P. Davis

approach of Vaasurri and Uthalion, collected herself and checked her meager pack.’ Uthalion wordlessly handed her a waterskin as he passed and moved toward the long sloping path into the broken grassland beyond. Seeing him in the light for the first time’, she couldn’t say he was particularly handsome, but nor was he ugly, for a human. His face was rough and lined, his eyes piercing, confident, and strong. Curiously, despite his previous objections to helping her, he did not seem inclined to wait for anyone else, pressing on in the lead with nary a gesture or even a harsh word.
    Before she could take a first step to follow, Brindani passed her as well, his head down and his cloak pulled tight around his shoulders. Neither of the men acknowledged her or each other.
    “Worry not,” Vaasurri said and stood at her side. “I’m sure in a few days you’ll be hard pressed to shut them up for all their chatter.”
    She smiled briefly despite herself and fell into step beside the killoren.
    “Tell me more about this Choir,” he said at length as they -descended. The land revealed its soaring cliffs and perilous drops, a massive field of shattered green and sparkling crystals.
    “Little to tell really,” she sighed. “Though I expect they are less the men they present themselves as and more… well, something else. They appeared in the city streets one day, only in the lower districts, with bandages around their hands and dirty robes. Their every movement, their smell,
    and the places they would frequent, made them seem little more than beggars. But their voices…
    “I was sober the first time I heard them singing, and the sound chilled my soul. It was like messengers from the gods pronouncing some judgment upon all who listened.” She shuddered at the memory. “After that, I avoided them at all costs, wishing they would move on as quickly as they’d arrived. But then, as they enthralled groups of those that found some kind of hope in their songs, Tessaeril began to listen as well.”
    “Did she go with them willingly?” he asked.
    “What are you implying?” she returned sharply, but she calmed herself, seeing genuine curiosity in the killoren’s eyes, “I’m sorry. No, I don’t believe so. Their songs are strange, very… persuasive. They escaped the city with a dozen other citizens without alerting even the sharpest-eyed guard.”
    Vassurri nodded and seemed to consider the tale as they journeyed deeper into the Mere-That-Was. Occasionally she glanced over her shoulder, expecting at any moment to find the dreamers—or even the Choir themselves— bearing down on them, calling her name. She’d expected the killoren to press her on the subject and was relieved that he did not. She was still trying to work out for herself why the Choir would come back for her. As the day wore on, and the sun neared the western horizon, she feared the evening’s dream would be stronger. She found herself both dreading and looking forward to the strange nightmare and the bewitching song.
    “Perhaps I shall learn more tonight,” she whispered, watching the sun slowly turn a deep orange.
    “Pardon?” Vaasurri said, overhearing her.
    “Nothing, just thinking out loud,” she answered quickly, still not entirely comfortable with the idea of sharing her dreams with anyone else. “What about Tohrepur?” she asked. “Has Uthalion ever mentioned…?”
    “Not much,” he said as they looked to the human, still in the lead arid forging a winding path through the towering crystals. “He’s not usually one for speaking about that part of his past lightly or at length.”
    “So I gathered last night,” she said, recalling his argument with Brindani. “It’s something he and the half-elf have in common.”
    Uthalion stopped at the other end of a natural bridge of land, both sides of which dropped down into the shadows of the lower plains. He paced out an area, on the southern side of a hill, and let his pack fall to the