The spinning blade flew toward Whitlock, and Vheod saw the look of horror cross Melann's face as she ran to the right edge of the wall. Wordlessly, she watched as it chopped at the air, angling over the wall and down at her brother.

The blade struck true. It cut through the vine that supported the bulk of Whitlock's weight. With that line severed, a number of the others tore with the adden weight of his body, and Whitlock came crashing down amid rose petals, thorns, and blood.

The black-clad woman screamed in frustration.

The energy wall faded away.

The woman looked at Vheod, dark eyes smoldering, her skin shone in the moonlight like smooth, milky alabaster, her long dark tresses merged with her lowing dress so that in the dim light they made it difficult to distinguish where they ended and the garment began. A cape made entirely of raven feathers draped from her neck and dragged well behind her in a long train. She raised her long-nailed fingers like jaws, as though she prepared to loose some dark spell, but then she stopped.

Melann ran to her brother, passing the woman to she side. She was too preoccupied to pay the black-dad woman any heed. Likewise, the woman ignored Melann. Once at her brother's side, Melann began lulling the thorny vines away from him. Whitlock stirred enough to indicated that he was at least alive and partially conscious. Melann's sobs of fear and relief were the only sound other than the cries of pain and protest from the trapped birds.

Until the mysterious woman spoke. She focused on Vheod for a moment, as though studying him.

"Child of demons," she said. "Chare'en's blood flows through your veins."

Vheod stared back at her. He felt helpless and naked before her gaze, particularly without his sword. This woman-the Ravenwitch-was beautiful and terrible at once. She reminded him of Nethess, the tanar'ri marilith that had hunted him his last days in the Abyss. Something inside him roused at the sound of her dark, throaty voice. It was like nothing that caused him to care for Melann. In fact, it seemed his desire came from all the parts of him that lay dormant while he thought of the pure-hearted priestess. This Ravenwitch appealed to that small part of him he didn't want to admit existed. She reminded him of everything in him that missed the Abyss and his former life. She was the catalyst that brought to the surface the lure of the darkness in his soul. The revel of dark power, the taste of innocent blood, and the beckoning need of betrayal and corruption churned within him.

Vheod felt the power of Melann's blessing drain away, almost as if it pooled at his feet and evaporated. He glanced at his left wrist, and saw the Taint. It formed a leering, fiendish face with a look of triumph and exultation.

"You have come to free Chare'en," the Ravenwitch stated. It wasn't a question.

Whitlock's wounds appeared much worse than they really were. He had lost a great deal of blood, but the injuries weren't deep. His naked, cut, and torn flesh was covered with ravens' blood, and a fair amount of it had poured into his wounds. The Ravenwitch had made him a part of some evil ceremony or ritual, but Melann didn't know enough about her to even guess at what its goal had been.

The Ravenwitch seemed to have turned her attention toward Vheod. She didn't even seem to care that Whitlock had been freed from his bonds or that Melann was in the process of preparing a healing blessing.

Vheod stared at the Ravenwitch, speechless. His arms hung limply at his side, and his face showed that her words had struck him with a wound more grievous than any weapon could possibly inflict.

"Do you deny that you are the descendant of the balor, Chare'en?" the Ravenwitch asked him, stepping toward him.

Melann watched as Vheod's face changed. The look of pain and horror shifted with disquieting swiftness to one of deep need or hunger. She continued to tend to her brother's wounds, but her eyes couldn't leave Vheod.

"Vheod?" Melann's tone spoke a thousand questions, the answer to any of which might easily break her heart.

"I deny nothing, witch” – Vheod said. The beginnings of a smile came to his lips. Rather than gladden Melann, the sight of that smile terrified her.

"You have come here in error then, cambion," the Ravenwitch told him softly. "Your master isn't here, His prison lies in a cavern miles to the south."

Vheod began to speak again, but stopped. Melann, from behind the Ravenwitch, still kneeling at her brother's side, interrupted him. She could think of nothing more to say than simply, "Vheod?"

The sound of her voice seemed to bring about another change in him. He looked past the Ravenwitch to Melann. He stared at her a moment as she helped her brother. Vheod's face changed, and his eyes seemed to grow softer. He looked to the Ravenwitch again, but the smile had vanished.

"I have no master, witch!” – he shouted in defiance. The Ravenwitch was silent for a moment, her body perfectly still, then slowly turned and looked back and down at Melann and Whitlock. Perhaps she'd simply followed Vheod's gaze, or maybe she had some dire plan for the siblings. Melann would believe anything at this point. Still looking at Melann and Whitlock, the Ravenwitch said simply, "I see."

"You mistake me for someone or something else, I think, witch," Vheod said, seemingly steeling himself as he straightened his back. The muscles in his neck and arms tightened. "I've come to ensure that Chare'en is not freed. I don't wish his evil loosed on this world." The Ravenwitch turned back to Vheod. She moved even closer to him, close enough for her to lay a long-fingered hand on his shoulder. Vheod remained rigid.

"If that is truly your goal, cambion, then you will fail." She said.

"Do not threaten me," Vheod spoke through clenched teeth.

"I do not threaten. I speak of the future, and the certainties I have seen in divination. You will free Chare'en."

Vheod remained silent.

"I suspect, then, after you free him and he gathers the army of creatures that already amassed waiting for him, you will fight at his side. The two of you can carve a fiendish kingdom of evil for yourselves. You'll fight even against the arrayed armies of Cormyr and the kingdoms to the south, spreading destruction as only tanar'ri truly can. I don't wish to oppose such a powerful menace. I want to survive." The Ravenwitch gestured with open palms toward Vheod, but Melann was sure her narrowed eyes concealed something.

Melann looked down at Whitlock and called on the power of Chauntea to heal her brother. As she prayed, a bluish-white glow flowed from her fingertips to Whitlock's flesh. The light caressed his bloody wounds, erasing them from his body as though they had never been. Whitlock's eyes fluttered open, and he opened his mouth to speak, but all he managed was to cough up dark blood-raven's blood.

"What have you done to my brother?" Melann demanded, interrupting the strange, disturbing conversation Vheod and the Ravenwitch were having. She held on to Whitlock as he spat out the blood and moaned.

"I did nothing," the Ravenwitch said, circling around Vheod then turning to face Melann from behind him. "I was about to grant him the greatest gift within my power. A blessing, really,"-she shook her head slightly-"but you stopped it. Without the infusion of ravens' blood, now that the magical process is ruined, hell be nothing but a human." She looked at Vheod from behind him. "Your tendency to thrust yourself into situations you don't fully understand will be your downfall, cambion."

Vheod turned to face her. "I am certain whatever you were doing to him was something that was rightfully ended. Do not attempt to trick me with sly wordplay, Ravenwitch. I lived for years among the sharp and slippery tongues of the tanar'ri, skilled in eons of temptation and betrayal. You will not fool me with your lies."