Forsaken House

CHAPTER 14

1 Tarsakh, the Year of Lightning Storms

At the dawning of the day after the Battle of the Cwm, Araevin and his companions rode out of Evereska, heading north into the rugged heart of the Shaeradim. The third telkiira glimmered in Araevin's consciousness like a lingering daydream or a few notes of a familiar song that refused to be forgotten. When he closed his eyes, he could sense the gemstone, feeling its direction and closeness just as he might feel the sun on his face with his eyes closed and know whether it was a bright or cloudy day. From Evereska it lay north and somewhat west, and based on his experience in following the second telkiira's pull from Waterdeep to the Forest of Wyrms, he knew it was far off.

Had he more time, Araevin would have been content to follow his trail on foot, closing in on the lorestone slowly and methodically. But the presence of the fey'ri army-encamped high in the Rillvale, driven back but not defeated-urged him to move faster. If the telkiira in fact harbored some secret lore that might be turned against the daemonfey, if it truly contained some useful knowledge or weapon, then it was needed in Evereska as soon as he could retrieve it. And if the telkiira quest proved to be a vain hope, then the sooner he followed the trail to its end and returned, the sooner he could lend his arcane strength to the crusade's next battle. So, instead of creeping out of the Shaeradim through one of the secret trails to the north, they spent the morning following the track deeper into the mountains, traversing higher and higher vales that not even the Evereskans visited often, until at last they reached the barren stone plinth of a high, thready waterfall that coursed down from a cliff above them. A moss-grown stone marker stood beside the pool, leaning crookedly to one side.

"Not another one of these," Maresa observed. She dismounted and set her hands on her hips. "It can't be good to tempt Tymora's luck too often. Sooner or later we're not going to go where we think we're going."

"Where does this one lead, Araevin?" Grayth asked.

"If I understand the Evereskan records, it will take us to the Moonwood, somewhat north of Silverymoon."

"Is that where the third loregem lies?"

"Possible, but unlikely." Araevin swung himself down from his own mount, and checked to make sure his saddlebags and gear were secure. "I can feel the telkiira quite a long ways north and west of here, and this is the nearest portal I know of that leads a fair distance to the north. It's my hope that transporting ourselves to the Moonwood will bring us closer to our goal, and save us some travel."

"We might overshoot the mark," Ilsevele said. "The Moonwood might be farther from the goal than we are right here."

"I know, but this seems worth a try. If I feel that the telkiira is farther away once we pass to the other side of the portal, we will simply step back through and proceed from here. It costs us no more time than it took to climb up here if I'm wrong, but if I'm right, we may save days of hard riding."

"So what sort of horrible monsters infest the Moonwood?" Maresa muttered. "Trolls and dragons again? Or something else this time?"

Araevin replied, "The Moonwood doesn't have quite the same reputation as the Trollbark or the Forest of Wyrms. But it's been almost eighty years since I was last in Silverymoon and the lands about, so my information may be out-of-date."

He moved over to the stone marker and studied it, softly tracing the weathered Espruar runes carved into its lichen-covered surface. Evereska's high vales concealed a handful of ancient elfgates leading to elven realms that no longer existed. Araevin cast a spell that let him study the ancient device and perceive its condition, its destination, and the method of its awakening.

"This gate linked Evereska to a northerly outpost of the fallen realm of Sharrven," Araevin said, "on the far side of the River Rauvin. This is the right one. Be ready to move swiftly when the gate opens, for it will not remain open for long."

Dutifully, his traveling companions ringed themselves around the elfgate, and waited for his signal. Araevin straightened, caught the reins of his horse, and led the animal closer. He spoke the ancient words needed to wake the portal, and quickly touched the device. A golden shimmer arose around him, warm and electric, and he was standing somewhere else, an overgrown clearing in a deep forest. He led his horse away from the weathered stone post marking the northern end of the portal, and watched as his companions came through one by one.

Maresa made a show of patting her arms and legs, as if part of her might have been left behind.

"Well, what do you know? I'm all here," she remarked. Ilsevele looked to Araevin and asked, "Are we closer, or not?"

Araevin hesitated only a moment, pausing to make sure of the magical intuition dancing in his mind, then answered, "Yes. The loregem now lies east of us, not close, but not terribly far."

Grayth glanced at the brooding sky.

"More riding, then," the cleric said. "Unless you know of another portal leading in the right direction."

"No elven realms ever stood between the Moonwood and Anauroch. I could try a teleport spell, but we'd have to leave the horses behind. And I would be guessing at where I'm going, which is not wise with such magic." Araevin shook his head and concluded, "We'll have to ride from here."

They mounted their horses again and headed east, riding beneath a cold but thankfully sparse drizzle. Winter might have been fading in the lands of the North, but spring's grip was still frail. Large patches of snow lingered under the tall trees of the forest, and the air was damp and chilly. After an hour's ride, they broke out of the eastern eaves of the Moonwood and rode across more open land, rolling hills crowned with bare, windswept heather, interspersed with thicket-filled vales and swift, cold streams. South of them rose the white peaks of a low but rugged mountain range marching off toward the east.

Early in the afternoon they struck upon a clear track running north and south across their path. Araevin couldn't recall the exact lay of the land, but Grayth prayed for Lathander's guidance and directed the company to follow the track to the north. Toward the end of the day the track crossed a broad, swift river, icy cold but fortunately less than knee-deep at the ford.

"We're lucky," Grayth called to Araevin over the rushing of the water. "If we come back this way in ten or fifteen days, the snowmelt will make this ford impassable!"

"Does any of this look familiar?" Ilsevele asked Araevin.

"I think this might be the Redrun. If we followed it south for quite a ways, we would eventually reach Sundabar."

"This track leads in the wrong direction, then."

"I'm not so sure." Araevin pointed at a stout marker that stood overlooking the ford. "Those are Dethek runes-Dwarvish. I think this track might skirt north of the Rauvin Mountains and head east through the Cold Vale toward Citadel Adbar."

"I think you may be right, Araevin," Maresa said, studying the Dwarvish writing. "I can make out some of this, I think… ah, that's not good."

"What?"

"The trail glyphs warn of orc lands ahead. And someone called Grimlight," said Maresa. "It's going to be a cold and lonely ride. I don't think there's anything between here and Adbar, and that's more than two hundred miles off according to the dwarves' glyphs. No civilization anywhere."

"The dwarves must pass this way," observed Grayth. "They raised a stone here, anyway."

"Yes, but look at the track," Ilsevele said. "Not much traffic at all."

They made another five miles before camping for the night in a small, sheltered hollow. The night was bitterly cold, cold enough that they decided to build a fire in spite of the risk of attracting orc marauders, but the night passed by without event. They pressed on in the morning, and rode as hard as they could reasonably push the horses for the next several days. The track skirted just to the north of the stark, forbidding foothills of the Rauvin Mountains, passing through a desolate land of tumbled boulder-fields covered in moss, boggy green fells, and sudden deep gorges across their path where icy streams plummeted down out of the mountains and carved paths through the hills. It was cold and wet, wreathed in dense fogs at night, empty except for the sound of countless white rills and falls amid the stony hills. Crumbling old dwarven bridges crossed stream after stream, some in such bad repair that Araevin or Grayth were forced to resort to magic to get the company across safely.

At noon of the fifth day since leaving Evereska, they reached another old bridge spanning a narrow gorge less than fifty feet wide, but twice that in depth. A nameless mountain stream rushed by below, plunging from rock to rock as it descended. The bridge was sound enough to cross, but in the middle of the span Araevin halted and looked downstream.

"Here," he said. "This is the gorge, I'm sure of it. We need to follow it downstream from here"

Ilsevele studied the landscape and said, "It will be impossible for the horses."

"Well leave them, along with all the gear we don't need in a fight. I'll hide the animals and our cache with a spell."

They led their mounts back a few hundred yards to the empty shell of an old, long-abandoned wayhouse along the road, and left the horses in the moss-grown ruin, concealed by an illusion Araevin wove to make the whole place seem like one more tumbled boulder den to anyone passing by.

The company returned to the bridge and with great care picked their way down the slippery walls of the gorge to the stream at the bottom. The stream snaked back and forth between huge boulders and steep shoulders of rock and filled the gully with cold spray and roaring water. But by leaping from stone to stone or scrambling over tumbled rock falls they were able to pick their way downward. Fortunately, it seemed that spring was just slow enough in coming that the bottom of the gorge was still passable. Araevin could easily see that a few days of heavy rain or snowmelt would have filled the channel from side to side.

The gorge turned to the east in a sharp bend that took quite a scramble to negotiate-and they saw the cave mouth. Beneath an overhanging shelf of rock, about fifteen feet above the stream below, a great dark tunnel gaped in the moss-covered wall of the gorge. Araevin halted, riveted by the sight of the place that had hovered in his mind since finding the second stone. It was not quite exactly as he had seen it. The stream was higher, some of the boulders seemed to have shifted or moved, and the vagaries of light and weather were not the same. But he could feel the closeness of the third stone. And as he looked closer, he realized that some of the smaller boulders and water-soaked branches clustered below the cave mouth were not rock and wood, but crushed and splintered bones.

"That's it," he replied in answer to the question he had not yet been asked. "It's in there."

Grayth doffed his helm and mopped his brow with the sleeve of the loose surcoat he wore over his plate armor. "Good, I was getting tired. Can't say I like the looks of it, though. That's a monster's lair if I've ever seen one."

"What do you think it might be?" Maresa asked.

"Maybe it's the lair of Grimlight, whoever or whatever that is," Ilsevele offered.

Grayth replaced his helm, looked up to Araevin, and asked, "So what's the plan?"

"Rest a few minutes, then ready ourselves with spells and go in," Araevin said.

He looked around at the gorge. He could feel the menace of the place, and wished he had Whyllwyst with him to keep an eye on their line of retreat once they entered the cave. He didn't like the idea of not knowing if anyone else might be coming up behind them.

"I suppose we'll have to find out the hard way who lives here," Araevin said, "and whether or not they're willing to part with the lorestone."

It took Methrammar Aerasum6 almost ten days to gather a force from the cities of the League. Most of the confederation's soldiers were scattered all over the Silver Marches in small detachments and companies, doing their best to check the depredations of raiding giants and marauding orcs. The High Marshal stripped whole companies from other tasks and sent them up the Rauvin by barge, gathering them in Everlund's Great Armory, the walled barracks compound overlooking the busy riverfront of the city. His agents scoured the city's markets and caravan yards, buying up every pack animal in sight as they amassed a tremendous store of food and supplies for the march.

Gaerradh was impressed by the martial array Methrammar assembled, even though she was more anxious with each day that passed. Two hundred of Silverymoon's famous Knights in Silver rode at the head of the column- human, elf, and half-elf soldiers strengthened by a dozen mages of the city's famous Spellguard. Four hundred sturdy dwarf warriors-Iron Guards from Citadel Adbar, and a small company from Citadel Felbarr-tromped along behind the riders, openly discontented with the notion of marching off into the trackless woodlands to fight in the service of wood elves who weren't even members of Alustriel's league. Several small companies from smaller towns such as Auvandell and Jalanthar followed, including a handful of human huntsmen and trackers almost as comfortable in the forest as Gaerradh herself. And finally, Methrammar had prevailed upon the First Elder of Everlund to lend him three seasoned companies of the Army of the Vale. All told, Methrammar's expedition numbered well over a thousand soldiers.

After assembling his force, Methrammar did not lead his army straight south into the wood, as Gaerradh would have expected.

"If your folk are retreating to the Lost Peaks, then that is where we should march to," he explained. "The forest is a road to elves, but this army we have gathered will not make good speed on elven trails."

Instead, they marched southwest along the trade road known as the Evermoor Way, skirting the western edge of the forest for fifty miles before turning south into the forest on the fifth day of their march. From there, Gaerradh led them along the remnants of the elven highways that had once crisscrossed the High Forest in the days of Sharrven and Siluvanede.

On the sixth day out of Everlund, soon after Methrammar's army entered the forest, the daemonfey struck.

Gaerradh was with Methrammar, riding with the Knights in Silver at the head of the column. Behind them the other companies were scattered over close to a mile of trail, threading their way among the rugged, dense forest of the hills that climbed ever southward to the hidden slopes of the Lost Peaks. Suddenly, from the dark hillside above the trail, a barrage of magical fireballs whistled down into the marching column.

"Ambush!" Methrammar cried. "To arms! To arms!"

The fireballs exploded a bowshot behind the lead company, huge orange gouts of flame blossoming in the gloomy, dripping forest. The heat of the magical fire was so fierce that Gaerradh could feel the flames from where she stood. Before the flames fully vanished, brilliant bolts of lightning stabbed down from the hillside above the track, splintering trees with tremendous cracks! and booms! that left Gaerradh's ears ringing. Everlundan soldiers staggered and screamed, burned or maimed by the deadly magic.

Methrammar wheeled his horse about, his handsome face hard and flat with anger.

"Damn! Where did they come from?" he hissed. Then he shouted at the Silvaeren knight who commanded the vanguard, "Take defensive positions and spread out! They're going to try to swarm the vanguard while the rest of the column is cut off by the spellcasters!"

I should have been scouting the trail instead of riding with Methrammar, Gaerradh thought angrily. No fey'ri sorcerers would have ambushed Sheeril and I!

Few others came close to matching her woodcraft, but Methrammar had asked her to stay close by him, pointing out that her knowledge of the trails and landmarks of the forest was irreplaceable. In truth, she had not minded the opportunity to keep the company of the handsome commander. She cursed her own foolishness and swept the woods nearby with her keen eyes, looking for the next step of the ambush.

Dark, swift forms dropped down from wooded hillside above the trail with bared steel in their filthy talons.

"Here they come!" she cried. "Watch upslope!"

Gaerradh slipped off her own mount and unslung her bow. She had no skill in fighting on horseback, and she suspected that anyone on a horse would be singled out by enemy archers and wizards.

Sheeril growled at her heel, baring her fangs at the forest. Gaerradh quickly knelt down beside the wolf and tapped her shoulder, pointing downslope.

"Scout!" she commanded.

She didn't think the ambushers would try to struggle up the hillside to get at the Silvaeren soldiers, but having just been fooled once, she didn't mean to be fooled again. Sheeril was trained to seek out hidden foes and stay out of sight. The wolf yipped once and bounded off down the hillside. Then Gaerradh darted over to take cover by a huge dead spruce, already seeking out marks for her arrows.

Orcish war cries filled the air, and a ragged line of berserkers leaped down the hillside through the trees, shrieking like blood-maddened beasts as they hurled themselves on the humans and elves of Silverymoon's company. A barrage of fireballs preceded the orc charge, but the Silvaeren mages among the vanguard were ready and countered many of the attacker's spells. Gaerradh searched the treetops and high branches for the daemonfey spellcasters, ignoring the orcs. She glimpsed a bat-winged fey'ri in dark mithral armor gliding overhead, its hands gesturing as it shaped another spell. Gaerradh drew and fired in one smooth motion, sending two arrows at the enemy wizard. One glanced away from a spell ward of some kind, but the other struck true, taking the fey'ri just under its breastbone. The demonspawned sun elf crumpled in midair and began to fall.

Gaerradh looked for another target, but with a terrible crash the orcs reached the waiting soldiers. Axes rose and fell, swords flashed, and the dead and wounded began to fall. Steel clattered and rang, and angry human battle cries rose to match the bellowing of the orc raiders. A hulking orc with a great hooked axe ran straight for Gaerradh, hurling past the human and elf swordsmen around her. She didn't have enough time to shoot, and had to parry quickly with the strong shaft of her bow until she managed to draw one of her gracefully curved axes from her belt.

"Die, elf!" the big orc shouted. His mouth was flecked with foam, and his eyes rolled wildly in his porcine face. "Kill! Kill!"

One blow of his huge axe tore Gaerradh's bow from her left hand, and he reversed his swing and brought the sharp hook on the back of his weapon whistling at her neck. Gaerradh ducked under the blow and yanked her off-hand axe from her belt. Then she straightened up and launched herself at the orc, weaving her two axes before her in a deadly double arc of whirling elven steel. She slashed him once across the forearm, a second time across the ribs, and the savage warrior simply shoved her away with the thick haft of his war axe. Gaerradh stumbled back three steps and almost fell.

The berserker roared in glee and stepped forward, whirling the axe with the full length of his long, powerful arms, but then he grunted and staggered as a barrage of streaking globes of blue magic pummeled him from the side. Gaerradh risked a quick glance that way, and saw Methrammar Aerasum6 standing, sword in one hand, wand in the other. He offered one quick, fierce smile, and whirled away to aid another soldier.

The orc recovered from Methrammar's spell and snarled, blood streaming from his mouth. He fixed his eyes on Gaerradh and shambled closer, kept on his feet by nothing more than hate and bloodlust. Roaring in rage, the bestial warrior swung wildly, but the wood elf used her right-hand axe to pass the orc's swing over her head. She stepped inside his reach and split his forehead with her left-hand axe.

More spells blasted into the melee, silver forks of lightning and furious jets of azure fire dropping orcs on all sides, while simmering spheres of acid and lances of black ice streaked down from the fey'ri sorcerers skulking on the hillside above, wreaking carnage among the Silvaeren soldiers. Gaerradh stooped to retrieve her bow and crouched beside a tree, searching for another fey'ri spellcaster, but in the space of a few moments the battle suddenly ended. The orcs broke and ran, the surviving warriors fleeing into the trees or snarling defiance at the Silvaeren company. Overhead, the fey'ri spellcasters vanished as well.

"Gaerradh!" Methrammar Aerasume called. He stood among the soldiers of Silverymoon, his long sword spattered with red. "Gaerradh!"

"I'm here," she replied.

She looked around. Despite the furious assault, the Silvaeren company had not fared too badly. More than a few of Silverymoon's soldiers would not return to their city, but even more orc warriors lay dead at their feet. Farther back in the column, where the fey'ri had concentrated their first barrage of deadly spells, she expected the carnage would be worse. She slung her bow, then stooped and wiped her axe on the ragged wolf skin worn by her orc adversary.

"We walked right into that," she said.

Methrammar grimaced and replied, "I know. You warned us about these fey'ri, but after so many days of seeing nothing of them…" The high marshal sighed and sheathed his sword. "At least we slew many of them, too."

"Only their orc allies. The daemonfey spellcasters are the real threat. I shot one, but I didn't see any more fall." Gaerradh looked up at him, and smiled thinly. "Thank you for the help with this big one, by the way. You gave me just the opening I needed."

"We'd never find our way to the Lost Peaks without you. And I find that I've grown too fond of your company to let an orc deprive me of it," replied Methrammar. He sighed and looked over the soldiers who stood nearby, searching to see who among their fallen comrades still lived. "We will have to post a strong watch at night. If they're willing to attack us by day, they will certainly look for a chance to harry us while we're trying to rest."

Amlaruil, Queen of Evermeet, entered the Dome of Stars at a sedate pace. She was dressed in a regal dress of gold brocade, her scepter of office transmuted into a willowy golden wand to match the gown. The Dome's galleries were dark and silent, empty of courtiers and spectators. By chance the tidings from Faerun had come an hour before the beginning of a royal ball, so she had arranged for the council members to be diverted to the Dome as they arrived at the party.

Faint strains of music echoed from the distant ballroom. Some of her guests would undoubtedly note that the queen and her councilors were late for the revelry, but Amlaruil hoped that they would be able to sweep in together as a gala entourage, and appear fashionably late.

As one, her councilors rose to meet her. If Ammisyll Veldann and Selsharra Durothil stood a little slower than the others and did not bow as deeply or as long, they at least observed the forms of courtesy. Like Amlaruil, each was dressed for the formal dance to follow, bedecked in the finest robes or flowing dresses as appropriate. It lent a strangely humorous atmosphere to the scene.

Amlaruil suppressed a smile and said, "Thank you for answering my summons. I have received news from Evereska. There has been a fierce battle in the passes approaching the LastHome."

"Lord Miritar's expedition?" High Admiral Elsydar asked.

"Yes. It seems that his host transited the elfgates to Evereska just in time to meet the daemonfey onslaught. They fought the invaders on the shoulders of Ilaerothil and halted their advance."

"A victory, or a defeat?" Keryth Blackhelm asked, steeling himself for the answer.

"The fighting was fierce. I understand that Lord Miritar lost hundreds of warriors, but he won the day. The daemonfey army suffered far greater losses, and they were stopped short of the Vine Vale."

"Recklessness," muttered Selsharra Durothil. "He led his mob of volunteers away from the safety of Evereska's walls to fight in the open field? Here we see the cost of Miritar's folly-yet more of Evermeet's sons and daughters dead on meaningless fields in Faerun's pointless battles. When do you intend to put an end to this, Lady Moonflower?"

"None of us was there to judge whether Seiveril Miri-tar's generalship was foolish or sound," Keryth Blackhelm growled. Lady Durothil's discourtesy had not escaped him. "I for one will withhold my censure until I know more."

"For what possible purpose did he lead an untrained army into such a terrible battle?" Selsharra asked. "I am no war leader, but even I know that a wise general does not abandon impregnable fortifications to hazard his soldiers in an even fight on open terrain. Was it simply a matter of Seiveril's crusading zeal overriding his common sense? Or was he determined to demonstrate to all of us that his courage brooks no question?"

"Among other things, it occurs to me that Lord Miritar could do little to succor the wood elves of the High Forest if he sat on top of Evereska's cliffs and did nothing else," the High Marshal retorted. "If you take up arms against an enemy, you must be willing to hazard losses in order to defend positions you must defend, or attack positions you must take. That is the nature of war."

"That is the problem, isn't it?" Ammisyll Veldann observed. "Evermeet is not at war, yet here we learn that hundreds of our soldiers are dying in distant battles."

Amlaruil refused to let Veldann and Durothil bait her any further.

"I will provide a full account of the fighting as soon as I am able to," she said firmly. "Hill Elder Duirsar of Evereska informs me that Seiveril's warriors won a hard-fought battle and halted the enemy advance. For that I give thanks, since the daemonfey are enemies of all elves. I regret that warriors have died, but I do not regret that they died to spare the folk of Evereska a deadly siege or bloody assault."

The table fell silent, until Zaltarish the scribe cleared his throat and said, "Have you heard anything of Lord Seiveril's intentions, Your Majesty? What has happened since the battle? Where is he now, where are his foes? Wars are rarely won in a single day."

Amlaruil shook her head and answered, "I know nothing more than what I have already said. I will send a representative to Evereska tomorrow to confer with the Hill Elder and obtain a better account of the fighting in the Shaeradim."

"I will go, if you permit me," Keryth Blackhelm said.

"Of course, Lord Blackhelm." Amlaruil looked around the table. "That is all I had to say. If there is nothing else-"

"There is one thing," Selsharra Durothil said.

Amlaruil smoothed her face and refused to show any irritation when she asked, "Yes, Lady Durothil?"

"Your council now stands at seven members, Lady Moonflower. While there is no law that dictates the size or composition of the Council of Evermeet, tradition would indicate that we should replace Miritar and Jerreda Star-cloak. I have given the matter some thought, and it occurs to me that we could fill Miritar's seat immediately."

Zaltarish folded his hands before him and said, "Lady Durothil, it has been less than a month. Council seats have sometimes gone unfilled for years. There is no need to hurry such an important decision."

"I disagree. First of all, it is not clear to me that Evermeet's peril allows us to delay this decision as we might in more peaceful times. Secondly, if an ideal candidate is available, I see no point in delaying his or her accession."

"I presume you have some ideal candidate in mind?" Meraera Silden said dryly.

"Lord Miritar was, of course, the High Cleric of Corellon's Grove, a very senior representative of the Seldarine's clergy. I find myself concerned that we have no high-ranking cleric on the council now who might advise us of the will of Corellon Larethian when we engage in our deliberations. Therefore, I propose that Elder Star Mellyth Echorn should be elevated to Miritar's seat. He is the highest-ranking cleric of Corellon in Evermeet, and a member of a high and noble family as well. Who could be a better choice?"

Amlaruil leaned back in her seat, her expression neutral. Clearly, Selsharra Durothil thought that a conservative cleric of Corellon Larethian might be a powerful new voice on the council, a voice sympathetic to the traditionalist sun elf Houses. By suggesting Mellyth Echorn, Selsharra put Amlaruil in the position of accepting her nomination-not something Amlaruil was particularly inclined to do, though in truth she didn't know if Echorn was unsuitable-or declining the Elder Star, which would appear to be a deliberate slight to those of Corellon's faith. She had no doubt that Selsharra would see to it that word got out that the Durothils had pushed for the Elder Star's nomination. Lady Durothil gained in either case.

I wonder how badly it would go if I told Selsharra Durothil that her seat was vacant, too, Amlaruil thought.

The queen offered the sun elf noblewoman a warm smile.

"The councilors serve at my pleasure, as I am sure you know," she said. "I will consider the matter carefully, and I thank you for your suggestion. However, I would rather examine our needs thoroughly and make sure that I select the right candidate than act hastily and perhaps choose the wrong one. I will let you know when I have decided." She rose, and indicated the chamber's doors. "Now, let us join the festivities, before our absence creates undue alarm."

The cave mouth led into a warren of dank, twisting tunnels, filled with swift, icy rivulets of water that poured down through the wet rock. Araevin summoned a magical light in order to illuminate their path. More bones, splintered and crushed, glimmered in the yellow magelight, and a damp, musky scent hung in the chill air.

"Damn," whispered Grayth. "That's a hill giant's skull, or I'm a goblin. Are you sure this is the right cave, Araevin?"

"I won't be upset if you say no," Maresa added. Araevin replied, "Sorry to say so, but yes."

He paused to examine the chamber. As had happened in the Forest of Wyrms, he was too close to sense the exact location of the next stone. They would have to find it the hard way. Several passageways burrowed off into the blackness, but they seemed somewhat small and contorted for anything large enough to make a meal of a giant. To his right, though, a V-shaped cleft seemed to go back into the rock for quite a distance, and a good-sized stream poured out of its bottom to run across the cavern floor and out into the gorge.

"This way, I think."

One by one, they clambered up into the cleft, icy water running swiftly over their feet, and followed the subterranean streambed deeper into the caves. The way was difficult and wet. Though the stream was rarely deeper than mid-calf, the path was obstructed by numerous boulders and awkward shelves and columns of stone, and the stream descended sharply from above. They scaled several small cascades and chutes, until Araevin's teeth chattered from the cold and his hands were numb.

Forty or fifty yards from the entrance, they climbed up into a large, open cave. The air stank of old meat, and the smell was overpowering. Grayth drew his sword and carefully moved up out of the streambed, peering into the twisting galleries of stone that framed the chamber. Araevin followed the Lathanderite, glad to have a strong friend in heavy plate armor a few steps ahead of him. Ilsevele and Maresa brought up the rear, Ilsevele's bow at the ready, Maresa carrying her rapier and crossbow. Clearly, something lived in the chamber at the top of the stream. More discarded bones lay scattered about, and more tellingly, rotten old wooden chests bursting with silver and gold coins stood haphazardly at the far end of the room. But there was no sign of the cavern's denizen, though more of the small, halfling-sized tunnels led away from the room.

"Is your gemstone here, Araevin?" asked Grayth.

"It's close," the mage said. He kept his wand of disruption in hand, watching the shadows carefully, and moved over to investigate the hoard gathered in the dry end of the room. That at least spoke of intelligence. A dumb beast would not gather the gold of its victims.

Ilsevele followed Araevin over to the treasure, lowering her bow, and said, "Let's find the telkiira and get out of here before this thing comes home."

"Too late, heh!" croaked a horrible, rasping voice from the shadows. "Grimlight is home, heh!"

Araevin and the others whirled at the sound, looking for whomever or whatever had spoken, but then, from one of the small tunnels, a brilliant stroke of lightning blasted out, spearing Ilsevele and Grayth. Ilsevele threw herself aside, somehow avoiding the terrible blast, but the bolt caught the Lathanderite dead center in his steel armor. Azure fingers of electricity crawled over the cleric, snapping and popping, as he jerked and thrashed, pinned in place by the lightning. Then it ended, and Grayth collapsed to the cavern floor, his limbs twitching and smoke rising from the joints in his armor.

"Who is in Grimlight's den? Must be Grimlight's dinner, heh!"

Something seemed to chuckle with a sly, throaty sound, and a huge, blunt snout appeared in the tunnel mouth. The creature slithered forth, revealing first a gaping, crocodilian maw, then a draconian face with two curling horns, and a long, powerful body covered in thick scales with pairs of small, clawed legs that it held folded close to its body as it crawled out of its tunnels.

"What in all the screaming hells is that?" Maresa snarled.

The genasi didn't wait for an answer, but instead leveled her crossbow and loosed a bolt at the monster. Grimlight jerked its head aside with a surprisingly quick motion, and the quarrel glanced away from the thick scales above the creature's eyes. Maresa swore and yanked back on her crossbow's string, loading another quarrel.

Araevin retreated three quick steps away from the huge creature, narrowly avoiding a great snap of its fang-filled jaws, and pointed the disruption wand at its head, barking out the command word. A tremendous shriek of sonic power burst from the wand, blasting a yard-wide ram of distorted air at Grimlight that hammered the monster like the club of a giant. But Grimlight recovered with startling speed and barreled straight at Araevin, hurling the mage headlong with a quick toss of its horned head. Araevin crashed into the hard rock of the cavern wall. Ribs cracked and his breath exploded from his mouth in a deep grunt.

Ilsevele picked herself up from the floor and found her bow. Whispering the words of a fire spell, she ensorcelled her arrow and shot it at the scaled worm. The arrow kindled in flight and plunged deep into Grimlight's side, a flaming bolt that set the monster to thrashing with such violence that its long, thick tail smashed foot-thick stalagmites to flinders.

"Grimlight will eat you all!" the monster hissed in rage. "Room for many in Grimlight's belly, yes, yes!"

Ilsevele shot again, a pair of arrows that stuck in the thick scales of the monster's face but did not penetrate deeply enough to inflict any serious injury. The arrows did succeed in attracting Grimlight's undivided attention, though. The wyrm hissed so loudly that Araevin's ears rang, and launched itself at the archer like a living battering ram, lunging across the cavern floor.

Araevin managed to draw a breath deeply enough to speak a spell. He pointed his finger and fired a deadly green ray of disintegration at the huge creature. The terrible emerald beam chewed deeply into Grimlight's flank, gouging out an awful wound for ten feet or more along the worm's side. Black blood spewed from the injury, and Grimlight's charge at Ilsevele faltered. The creature bucked and thrashed-incidentally knocking Grayth twenty feet across the cavern, as the cleric began to grope his way to his feet. It opened its jaws wide and blasted Araevin at point-blank range with a blue-white spear of lightning. The monster's lightning breath hurled Araevin head-over-heels through the air, and he landed in the icy streambed and struck his head on stone. Bright white lights flared in his vision, and a great roaring sound filled his ears.

I have to get up, he told himself.

He seized on that simple thought with all the desperation of a drowning man and slowly rolled over onto his belly, pushing himself upright with arms that felt as weak and empty as burned-out cinders. He wiped away the blood streaming down his face and looked up, even though the cavern tilted crazily from side to side.

Grayth, sword in hand, fended off Grimlight's snapping jaws, slashing its snout and face with quick thrusts and cuts. Ilsevele danced back away from the monster, sinking arrow after arrow into its thrashing body while Maresa riddled its other flank with her own magic. Araevin groped about in the icy water for his holster of wands, and finally found it. He fumbled with a simple wand for conjuring magic bolts, and took aim at the long, deep wound his disintegration spell had carved from the monster's side.

"Take that," he gasped, and fired four glowing darts into the gaping hole already scored in Grimlight's body.

Grimlight shuddered and groaned, coiling up its great serpentine body into a squirming ball. It threw up its head to the ceiling, hissing and bubbling deep in its throat, and Grayth staggered forward. One hand cupped on the pommel, the human drove his sword up through the soft white underside of the neck, the jaw, and into the monster's brain. The creature shuddered once and lay still.

Grayth collapsed across the monster he'd just killed, leaning on his sword.

"Thank Lathander that's done," he groaned. "I think I'm getting too old for this."

Ilsevele straightened, lowering her bow. She looked around and caught sight of Araevin.

"Araevin! You're hurt!" she cried, and ran over to take his arm.

Araevin tried to shrug off her help, but his legs felt rubbery and weak.

Til survive," he managed. "Let's find the telkiira before we do anything else. And keep an eye open for the daemonfey. The last time we were near a telkiira, they appeared."

Ilsevele looked closely into his face and frowned.

"Are you trying to break my heart?" she asked. "First that insane flight of yours against the whole fey'ri army, and now this. Are you trying to make a widow of me before we even marry?"

"You're taking every chance I am," he replied. "I'll stop when you do."

He moved over to Grimlight's hoard. Several of the rotten old chests had been smashed into splinters by the creature's thrashings, and coins and jewels lay scattered all over the cavern floor.

"So what was that, anyway?" Maresa asked. "Some kind of legless dragon?"

"A behir," Grayth replied. "A little like a dragon." He straightened up and sheathed his sword, turning to join the search. "So, will this stone look like-"

From the shadows by the steep cleft of the cavern stream, a bright blue ray shot out and struck Araevin in the middle of his torso. Araevin staggered back in surprise, but he was no more wounded than he had been a moment before. Instead, a shimmering blue field of dancing light clung to his body, sparkling in the darkness of the cave.

A dimension lock! he realized.

"Watch out! The daemonfey!" he cried.

Six demons appeared in the behir's cavern, wreathed in foul-smelling smoke. From the cleft more of the fey'ri poured into the room, their eyes glowing red with hate. Behind the demonic warriors came Araevin's enemy, the fierce sorcerer with the armor of golden scales and the jeweled eye patch.

He gestured at Araevin and his comrades and shouted, "Take them alive! The mage is anchored to this plane and cannot escape us this time!"

Araevin heard Ilsevele's bow thrum, while Maresa swore a vile oath and Grayth drew his sword with a shrill ring of steel. Araevin snapped out the words of terrible ice blast he'd learned from the second telkiira, directing a great white fountain of unendurable frigidity at the fey'ri clambering up into the chamber. The first fey'ri paled into translucent scarlet ice and shattered, and two more staggered under the weight of the magical rime that covered them, stumbling to the cavern floor with the creaking of frost and cracking of ice.

The fey'ri countered with spells of their own. Araevin tried to leap aside from a shimmering hoop of magic that formed in the air and settled down over him, pinning his arms to his side. He managed to gasp out a counter and dismiss the binding spell, only to be knocked senseless by a word of power spoken by the fey'ri captain. He reeled drunkenly across the floor, and a pair of vrocks seized his arms and bore him to the ground.

Distantly, he saw Ilsevele immobilized by a pair of webs that glued her in place with thick, ropy strands of white. Another fey'ri sorcerer captured Maresa with a will-sapping enchantment that bereft her of the volition to move and fight. Her chin sank down to her chest, the point of her rapier drooped to the ground, and the fey'ri warriors hurled her to the ground and began binding her with strong cords.

Stinking of blood and filth, the vulture-demons pinning him wrenched Araevin around and jerked up his head by his hair, laying their talons at his throat. Grayth, fighting with his back to the cave wall, reluctantly stopped and threw down his sword. He, too, was seized and bound with cords.

The spell that had struck Araevin senseless began to fade, and he could hear and comprehend again. The vrocks gripping his arms croaked and chuckled with evil glee, clacking their beaks.

"Let us kill just-t one," they begged. "We'll make it slow and delicious-s. Elf tastes so good-d."

"They are not to be killed until I tell you to kill them," said the fey'ri captain.

He approached Araevin, his one eye gleaming with malice. He held up his hand the third telkiira pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

"I suppose I should thank you, paleblood," the demon-elf sneered. "Not only did you lead us to this stone, you dispatched quite a formidable guardian for us. After all the trouble you've caused me, it is only fitting."

Araevin rallied enough to raise his head and meet the sinister demonspawn's gaze.

"You've… got your prize," he gasped. "What do you need us for, hellspawn?"

"I need you to find me one more gemstone, paleblood," the fey'ri said, grinning. "As for your companions, well, I have no use for them at all-unless you prove uncooperative, in which case you'll get to watch them beg for death before we're done. I suppose it's up to you."