It was early. The crest of the sun barely crept past the horizon, leaving the Vallenwood in that eerie state of misty twilight, the crickets of night melding their song with the enthusiastic cries of the morning songbirds. Lendach stood slowly, stretching his tall frame, hearing bones and joints crack back into place. The cold, hard steps of the palace were hardly the most comfortable of places to sleep. The thin film of dew that collected and seeped into the cloaks he had wrapped about him did not help either. He had seen and slept in worse places, this was not a problem. As usual, he saluted the pair of Bladesinger guards that stood watch. They respectfully returned the greeting, though barely concealed smirks betrayed their amusement. The Windfinder had taken to sleeping on the palace steps. How after awakening stiff and grumpy he could better serve the Queen was a bit of a joke to them, but it made him feel better. Their jests mattered little. A Kyorl lived for his duty and died for it as well. A cold step was hardly an issue. The doors to the palace would not be opened without his knowledge, even in sleep.

Through a yawn, he muttered a prayer for transportation. The shock of magically being pulled across time and space did little to stir him further out of sleep. So used had he become to the feeling of magical transportation. Through still half-glazed eyes, he saw a shadowy figure in the temple, surrounded by bloodied armor and elven body parts. His gazed traveled along the obviously Elven form that stood casually before him. From the stark, white hair drawn back to a ponytail to the knee high leather boots, nothing remarkable struck him, he blinked and looked again.

As the finer details came into focus, the feeling was as a bucket of cold water splashed to his face. Twin leather wrist wraps bearing images of Vallenwood trees, a silk baldric with a scabbard attached, a black-bladed sabre with a fine silverworked hilt and wristguard... The spider medallion, the signet ring of the Master of the Ka'vanth. His storm-cloud grey eyes locked with the ice blue of the masked figure before him. Recognition came and he called a warning to the rest of the Kingdom. Lyan flashed him an evil grin and sped down the temple steps. Lendach's own blade was out, drawn in a quick fluid motion. He began striding down the stairs in pursuit, long legs skipping them by twos and threes, leaping the last few to land on Emerald Lane. Through the city streets he followed the sounds of steel against steel, the cries of death. Always arriving barely in time to see a fallen guard, pointing further down the street in a last, noble act. A hissing breath escaped past his clenched teeth, the Song blaring through his mind now. The Haunt and Lilt of the Melody driving his body beyond it's normal capabilities.

He recognized a voice, it was the death cry of the guard he had saluted upon awakening, only moments before. That guard would not have left the palace courtyard, so that is where Lyan was now. Lendach voiced an incantation, magically transporting himself to an inner corridor of the palace itself. The servants looked unruffled, nothing was amiss here. He gestured to a few other guards and marched quickly out to the palace steps kicking the door open just in time to see Lyan slice the leg off the Royal Bladesinger and disappear back out of the gates.

With a growl he left the group of shocked guards that he had brought with him and took off in a run southward along Emerald Lane. He shouted at Lyan, " Why run? Does one have to be a coward to join the Ka'vanth? " Finally, he caught up with Lyan on the bridge near the market. There was no need for negotiation, the corpses littering the streets spoke loudly enough. He had seen the expression on the Bladesinger Guard's face with his own eyes as as Lyan's sabre cleaved into his thigh.

Lyan was a Dark Elf. It was public knowledge that Dark Elves were not allowed into Shalonesti City, not for any reason. The multiple murders explained all that was needed. Completely lost in the Song, Lendach's blade glided toward Lyan's temple as he danced forward on the balls of his feet. The swashbuckler ducked the slash and rolled backward, quickly springing to his feet with almost catlike grace, though his eyes flashed surprise at the suddeness of the attack and lack of warning. Lendach's thoughts turned to an image of a roasted goat as he observed Lyan's movements. His mind calm, he voiced an incantation, sending a large fireball blazing toward Lyan's chest. The swashbuckler sidestepped the blast of magic and scampered away, heading further southward along the bridge.

Lendach followed quickly then stopped abruptly, his boots skidding to a halt on the dusty ground. The swashbuckler had left tracks, but they stopped here. Lendach whispered the incantion for "farsight ", reaching out with his mind, seeking Lyan's prescence, but the Dark Elf was no longer within Shalonesti. His breathing slowed. With an effort, he quieted the Song within his head to a low murmer, the echo of a growl it seemed now, not the snarl and roar of fury that rang through his head only moments before. The Master of the Ka'vanth had run. That fact was undisputable. He was not surprised, nor did he blame Lyan for running. In not stopping to make polite conversation before the battle, perhaps he had given him something to think about. The Master of the Kav'anth would likely prefer to die old and in bed, not with his stormy grey eyes fixed on him, nor with the Haunting Melody of Lendach's Song ringing in his ears. Though a Dark Elf, Lyan had a wife and a child after all.