So in the end, the defenders decided to outlast their attackers and trust to the strength of the wards. No one wanted to abandon the Keep, in any case; not even the Trolls were in favor of leaving. Better to stand their ground and fight, Bombax repeatedly insisted, than flee and show their backsides to the likes of Drust Chazhul.

Again, Aphenglow wasn’t so sure.

On the second morning of the siege, she went into the depths of the Keep to find Woostra. She had gone to see him right after the initial assault had failed to inform him of what had happened. He had greeted the news with his usual calm indifference, declaring he was unsurprised and uninterested in anything involving the Federation. The Keep would protect herself and by doing so, protect them. He had more important matters to occupy his time.

Aphenglow, wondering what could be more important than an army of soldiers trying to break down Paranor’s gates, nevertheless had departed without further discussion.

But now she found herself increasingly uneasy about what might be happening outside the walls. They were seemingly safe and had proclaimed themselves so—well, Bombax had, at any rate, always so confident and self-assured. But everyone was edgy and disgruntled at being trapped in their own fortress and troubled by the size and determination of the enemy that had penned them in.

Aphen felt the need to explore the matter further.

In large part, this was because the Keep was speaking to her again.

It had begun to do so almost immediately after the last Federation assault had been broken. The voice spoke in whispers and sighs, in fragments of sentences and odd words, the language archaic and barely recognizable. Aphen, who knew at least parts of all the old Elven languages, nevertheless struggled with this one. The voice was plaintive and hushed, and in its tone she discovered more than what she could decipher from its words. Worry, a sense of urgency that lacked a source but was clearly important, and a harsh demand for action all came through clearly. It was a summons, and she understood in a way she could not explain that it was directed to her and her alone.

So she went back to Woostra, hoping he could explain what was happening, that his vast knowledge of the Keep and its secrets might give her the answers.

She found him in almost exactly the same place and position as he had been two days earlier, bent over his books, scribbling furiously.

“Aphenglow,” he greeted without looking up.

“Can you give me a moment?” she asked, seating herself at one end of a bench otherwise crammed with books and papers.

He lay down the pen and faced her. “I was wondering how long it would take you. You’re here about the voice, aren’t you?”