Aenwyn surveyed the inner walls. “What happened here?”
Galanör looked up at the sky before returning his vision to the darkness below. “Dolvosari,” he said simply.
“The storm maker,” Gideon verified.
“Dolvosari is a dragon?” Aenwyn questioned.
“An old one,” Gideon answered.
“A big one,” Galanör added.
“Like Malliath,” the old master elaborated, “he had spells etched into his hide that could conjure storms after reaching a particular height. His choice apparently. He had the ancient Riders do it when they were at war with Atilan.”
“I had never seen a storm like it,” Galanör told them. “With rain he flooded the mine and with lightning he destroyed the Darkakins’ work. Nearly killed me and Adilandra in the process.”
Aenwyn crouched down and peered into the abyss, her apprehension clear to see. “We’re sure this is the best option?”
“It’s the only option,” Gideon said, removing the three crystals from his belt. “Can you open a portal into Atilan’s lab?” he asked Galanör.
The ranger accepted the crystals but his mind pondered something else, causing him to glance back at the way they had come. “I can open a portal,” he affirmed. “But I can’t get us back to Illian.”
Gideon looked from Galanör to Ilargo and back. “He just needs to rest,” the old master assured.
“He’s been getting worse since Malaysai,” the elf reminded him. “How many stops did we have to make between there and here?”
“He’s fine,” Gideon said firmly.
“And if he’s not?” Galanör countered. “If Ilargo can’t fly us home we’re going to have to brave Drowners’ Run - a name those islands have well-earned. Not to mention the time it will take on foot.”
Gideon looked away. “I said he’s fine, Galanör. He’ll have time to rest while we look for the Crissalith.”
“Time is the one thing he doesn’t—” Galanör’s words were stopped by Aenwyn’s hand pressing against his chest.
She gave him a subtle shake of the head before saying, “We have come this far. We have no choice but to continue onwards, whatever our way back to Illian. If Crissalith is The Rebellion’s path to victory and Alijah’s path to redemption, I say we go and get it.”
Galanör nodded once in agreement, fingering one of the crystals in his hand. “Give me a moment.”
Stepping away from the others, the ranger closed his eyes and cast his mind back to The War for the Realm. The decades between melted away and he visualised Atilan’s ancient lab with the clarity only an elf could conjure. He placed the desk and chair in the chamber, focusing on the largest open space in the middle of the room. He had it.
Drawing on his own well of magic, Galanör began to pour his will and power into the crystal, enhancing its brightness. His fingers were hot and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. It had been a long time since he had used this kind of magic and he had forgotten the extent of its requirements. He continued to give it all he had, balling it up in his fist now. As the first beads of sweat began to make their way down the side of his head, the elf flicked his wrist and tossed the crystal into the air.
A blinding flash erupted before their eyes, eclipsing the crystal and all else for a brief second. What remained could only be described as a void in reality, a place where nothing had shape or texture. Sparks and bolts of lightning flickered around its edges, scorching patches of ground.
“Quickly,” Galanör uttered.
One after the other, they dashed through the portal before it collapsed on itself, leaving Ilargo alone on the surface.
Crossing from one place to another, the cold air was immediately noticeable, as was the even colder water that filled the chamber to their knees. It was also pitch black, an unnerving and disorientating condition. Warriors all, the companions naturally reached for their swords, though Galanör was more aware of Stormweaver’s weight after opening a portal.
“We need light,” Gideon stated, his words aimed at the ranger.
Galanör felt nauseous just thinking about using more magic, but what choice did he have? Without light they would never find the Crissalith. The muscles in his arm pinched and his fingers ached as he cast an orb of white light. It floated up, revealing the flooded chamber in stark shadows, lending the ancient site a menacing appearance.
Unsure of his ability to keep the orb alight - and aware that he needed to recover his strength to open a portal back to the surface - Galanör examined the chamber’s details and scanned the walls, searching for torches resting in the fixings. He found two and quickly set them aflame, not wishing to dwell on the use of more spells.
“Take them,” he urged.
With a torch each, Aenwyn and Gideon moved to different parts of the room to expel the lingering darkness. The far left corner of the chamber had suffered the worst under Dolvosari’s assault, the space now occupied by rock after a cave-in. The collapsing rock had torn through one side of Atilan’s desk, reducing it to splinters and leaving the rest of it at an awkward angle.
Exhausted as he felt, Galanör could still remember his time with Adilandra in this room. The memory turned him around to set his sights on the door that led out into the base of the mine.
“We need to go that way,” he directed, breaking Gideon’s reverie. The old master was obviously fascinated by their surroundings, his free hand having already glided over a dozen relics along the walls.
Aenwyn reached the door first. “It won’t budge,” she reported, her shoulder leaning into it.
“There’s going to be tons of debris on the other side,” Galanör replied. “Can you pull it from its hinges?”
Aenwyn handed her torch to the ranger and retrieved a dagger from her belt. With both hands, she dug the blade in and prised the hinges away from the rotten wood. She removed the lowest hinge blind, her hands working beneath the water.
Her work completed, the
