“The crystal is natural,” Gideon explained, “and found only in this location apparently. Atilan’s grimoire detailed little regarding his discovery of it, but it did tell of his experiments with the crystal. He used spores from a strange type of plant he found in The Silver Trees of Akmar, in Erador. Combined with magic of his own engineering, the crystals turned green and developed their unique property of severing one from magic.” The old master pointed around the cave. “Atilan spread the spores everywhere he could find the crystal.”
Galanör listened to it all, fascinated, but he never took his eyes from the passage they had passed through. They were making enough noise to be easily located, even without the sensitive ears of the Darkakin. Another confrontation was inevitable.
Hearing the crystal break, the ranger dared to glance back and watch Aenwyn place the Crissalith inside Gideon’s satchel. Swallowed by the pocket-dimension, the crystal might as well have ceased to exist.
“We have the Crissalith,” Gideon summarised. “And we have the Hastion gem. Time to get out of this nightmare,” he finished, looking to Galanör.
Galanör exchanged a silent conversation with Aenwyn and they swapped places so that she could cover them with her bow while he drew on his magic to create another portal.
“Have you had enough time?” Gideon enquired with concern.
Galanör could still feel the strain from opening the first portal, a fatigue that manifested in a slight tremble present in both of his hands. “Why?” he replied sarcastically. “Do we have time for me to rest down here?” The ranger took a breath to compose himself. “Just be ready to catch me on the other side.”
His fingers reached into the pouch on his belt and investigated every inch of the leather. A cold dread rushed through his veins as he found the hole in the bottom. Removing the pouch completely, he opened it with both hands and looked in dismay at the lack of crystals therein.
“What’s wrong?” Gideon demanded, likely aware of the calamity.
“The crystals are gone,” Galanör stated, his tone hollow.
“Gone?” Aenwyn repeated, tearing her eyes from the passage.
“They must have fallen out when the Darkakin attacked me,” he concluded, meeting Gideon’s eyes to share in his trepidation.
“Without them we will be—”
“Stuck,” Galanör cut in, finishing the old master’s obvious statement. “We will just have to retrieve them.”
“That is easier said than done,” Gideon retorted.
“It’s either that or accept this place as our tomb,” the ranger spat, angry with himself more than anything.
“He’s right,” Aenwyn said, agreeing with Galanör. “This is just another problem. We will face it and overcome it or die trying.”
Gideon nodded in agreement. “Then let us face it. I would not linger in this foul place any longer than we need to.”
With no time to further chastise himself, Galanör took up the lead and guided them back the way they had come. Eventually, the light of his orb pushed forwards into the rectangular chamber and reflected off the black surface of the water. Unlike the first time they had passed through this chamber, the ranger had a bad feeling about it now.
Slowly, with Stormweaver in hand, he descended back into the deeper waters. By the time he was crossing the middle of the chamber, Gideon and Aenwyn were up to their waist in water behind him. He could see the slope and the adjacent doorway up ahead.
Something brushed past his leg.
The ranger looked down, though he could see naught but the orb shining brightly on the water. Then he heard Aenwyn yelp behind him. He only glimpsed her before she was dragged down into the black.
“Aenwyn!” both Galanör and Gideon cried.
The water exploded all around them. Darkakin filled the chamber, lashing out at their prey. Gideon abandoned his torch and met the attack with Mournblade in both hands. Galanör skewered the first savage to come at him, forcing Stormweaver up to the hilt in the man’s scrawny gut. He yanked it back and flowed into a sweeping arc that cleaved the next Darkakin’s head from his shoulders.
“Aenwyn!” he yelled, as yet more came for his blood.
Gideon had been quickly piled upon and was under threat of being weighed down under the water. He slashed Mournblade high and low, relieving savages of limb and life alike but his sword arm was nearly submerged. Galanör fought his way across the chamber, cutting down Darkakin with every flash of his steel. One of them, however, succeeded in landing a blow to the side of the elf’s face, knocking him off course from Gideon’s plight. He was then faced by another pair of Darkakin who intended to stab him in the chest.
That was when Aenwyn burst from the water, her bow coming up as she retrieved an arrow from her quiver. In the blink of an eye she let loose her missile and took down one of Galanör’s opponents. He dispatched the other with a swift horizontal strike of his scimitar, only to be relieved of the third savage - who had previously struck him in the face - by another arrow from Aenwyn.
Thankful as he was to see Aenwyn unharmed, Galanör immediately turned to renew his aid to Gideon. The old master, however, proved that the word old only referred to the number of years he had lived, not his state of health. With one mighty shrug, he freed himself of the surrounding Darkakin. What followed were the movements of a wraith, not a man. Flowing through the smooth forms of the ancient Mag’dereth, Gideon sliced, hacked, and slashed through every one of his foes until he was ringed by floating bodies.
Gideon’s shoulders sagged while he caught his breath. “You’re injured,” he pointed out, looking at Aenwyn.
The elf shrugged off the concern. “Nothing serious,” she replied, though Galanör would have preferred they took a moment to properly examine the
