Vandar appeared to have the perfect musculature and keen, dauntless air of a hero in some lying bard s witless story.
Choschax wasn t lying, Aoth said, as much to rouse his companions as anything. His people do live in the Feywild, not in the Shadowfell.
The Shadowfell was the world of darkness, death, and decay that Jhesrhi and Gaedynn had once visited. The Feywild was its bright counterpart: a realm of light and vitality. Aoth felt invigorated just breathing the air.
It s wonderful, Cera breathed.
Don t let the wonders put you to sleep, said Aoth.
Don t you, she replied. You can see them better than we can.
Nobody will let himself slip into a trance, Vandar said. Now, can we keep moving? We don t want to get caught on these steps.
You re right, Aoth said, we don t. As he led his companions onward, making sure not to look at anything for too long lest its beauty draw him in, he noticed an unpleasant absence in his head. Apparently, shifting to a different plane of existence blocked his psychic connection to Jet.
The intruders reached the little antechamber at the foot of the stairs without incident. A cavern opened out before them. There, magic, the toil of artisans, or a combination of both had sculpted much of the gleaming black stone with its luminous multicolored veins into arches, balconies, windows, battlements, and turrets. They stood as ornate and as imposing as the fa ade of a zulkir s palace. The splendor made Aoth want to stand and gawk. He gave his head a shake to clear it. There might well be sentries watching the entrance to the vault, and he and his comrades needed to focus on that.
Ready? he whispered.
Yes, Jhesrhi said. She murmured charms of concealment, and her magic stung across his skin like icy needles.
My turn, Cera said. Her lips moved in silent prayer.
To Aoth, it seemed paradoxical to ask the god of the sun to help you hide. But the sun wasn t just the world s great source of warmth and light. Its motion also defined the stately progression of time, and Amaunator gave some of his clerics the capacity to tamper with an observer s subjective perception of time. Cera wanted to compress the time it would take to scurry across the space ahead to the briefest instant, so that even if an observer had the ability to pierce Jhesrhi s veils, the intruders would appear and disappear so quickly that their presence wouldn t register.
That should do it, the priestess said.
Aoth took a breath. Let s go, he said and ran out into the open space.
He made it in three strides, and then a jolt of pain staggered him.
From his vantage point in the antechamber at the foot of the stairs, Aoth hadn t been able to see the big, stylized, staring eyes carved high on the walls of the vault beyond. No doubt that was as those who d fashioned the magical mantrap intended it to be. The pupil of each hieroglyph glowed red like the pupil of a cyclops s eye, and their gazes pressed down on him like a prodigious weight.
As he and his comrades lurched and stumbled, trying to keep their feet, he spotted the battlements directly above the arch they d just passed through. A pair of cyclopes stood there with crossbows in hand, ideally positioned to pick off intruders immobilized by the magic of the eye glyphs.
Which was to say, ideally positioned to pick off Aoth and his companions. Waves of heat were rippling over his skin, which likely meant that countermagic was burning his enchantment of invisibility away.
He had to move. He slapped at two of the tattoos under his mail. The first released a tingling surge of strength that washed away some of the pain. The second was a protective charm that, he hoped, would deflect some of the power of the eyes. Still feeling like he was carrying an enormous weight, he staggered one step, and then another.
So did Cera. Keeper, she gasped, Keeper, Keeper, Keeper.
Jhesrhi spoke in one of the tongues of Sky Home. A cold, howling wind sprang up at the intruders backs to shove them along.
The wind helped, but Vandar still collapsed to his knees and couldn t rise unaided. Aoth lurched around, grabbed him by the forearm, and heaved him to his feet.
It seemed to take forever to cross the courtyardlike space and duck into one of the smallest doorways. As soon as they did, the pain and feeling of relentless pressure disappeared. Aoth would have liked nothing better than to lean against the wall and catch his breath, but he forced himself to lead the others far enough down the passage that he was sure the cyclopes sentries couldn t see them. At that point, intricately carved stonework gave way to something that, except for the level floor, might almost have been a natural tunnel, although the darkly gleaming rock remained profoundly lovely.
Well, Cera panted, her round face shiny with sweat. That was interesting. But let s hope there are no other little details that Choschax neglected to mention.
That was well done back there, Jhesrhi said stiffly. My enchantments burned away fast. It was yours that kept us hidden.
The eyes were designed to tear away veils of illusion, Cera replied. We were lucky the Keeper s gift wasn t precisely that.
Vandar turned to Aoth. Thank you for helping me up, the berserker said, albeit grudgingly.
I had to, said Aoth. If the guards had caught you, they would have started looking for the rest of us.
Vandar scowled.
Aoth sighed. By the Black Flame, lodge master, that was a joke, he said. Well, mostly. Obviously, we re all in this together, and we all look after one another as needed. He looked around. Is everyone ready to move?
The others indicated they were.
We re in a small tunnel with no decoration, said Aoth. My guess is that this is the area where the slaves or servants live and labor on their masters behalf. If Tymora smiles, we won t run into any cyclopes, and the thralls won t care about us. Just try to look like you belong.
They prowled onward through what soon proved to be a maze of passages. In many respects, including the seductive beauty that kept snagging Aoth s attention, it was strange; but in others, it reminded him of the service areas of any palace. Goblins snored on pallets in a dormitory-like space. Tools some shaped so peculiarly that their intended use was a mystery leaned in corners or hung from pegs and hooks on the walls. And in a cluttered, filthy kitchen intended to feed the slaves, not their owners, the gutted carcasses of enormous rats dangled by their feet from the ceiling, and an iron cauldron steamed and bubbled on a bed of coals in a hearth.
The orange glow of the coals was captivating. Despite Aoth s resolve to remain alert, they held his gaze for a moment, until someone said, Psst!
Startled, he cast about. A hanging eviscerated rat with a bristling black pelt looked back at him with beady scarlet eyes. The combination of colors reminded him momentarily of Jet, although the griffon would surely have taken offense at the comparison.
You re not dead, Vandar said.
Do I look dead? asked the rat. Aoth heard the edge of pain in his high, cheeping voice.
Cera said, Actually, yes.
The creature sniggered. Fair enough, sunlady, fair enough, he said. But you could make me better, you and your healing hands.
Maybe she could, Vandar said. But you have the look of either a corrupt fey or an awakened beast allied with them. So I don t know why she would.
To keep me from tattling that there are intruders in the palace, the creature replied. Guards do wander by from time to time.
The berserker drew his dagger. I know another way to keep you quiet, he said.
Despite his mangled condition, the rat managed to raise his front paws in a placatory gesture. Easy, human! I was only joking, he said. The reason you should set me free is because you re either spies, thieves, or assassins, and I ve been spying here for a while myself. Whatever you re after, I can help you.
Aoth glanced around, checking to see if anyone was approaching. No one was, as far as he could tell. Who are you, and who were you spying for? he asked.
My name is Zyl, replied the rat. The name of the prince I serve wouldn t mean anything to you.
