“Hardly. If I’d done it right, they never would have known I was there.”
“It was good enough,” he reassured her. Then he looked to his companions. “Come on, my friends. We should make sure that we are well away from here by the time the ophidians find another way up to this balcony.”
CHAPTER FOUR
27 Flamerule, the Year of Lightning Storms
To make sure that they outdistanced any pursuit from the ophidians or their masters, Araevin and his companions marched hard for a long time after climbing back up from the from the depths of the Nameless Dungeon. Only when the tor of Nar Kerymhoarth was lost to sight in the green sea behind them did Araevin signal for a halt.
“This should be safe enough,” he said to his friends. “I don’t think the serpent folk will follow us so far from their lair, but I’ll weave some spells to hide us from them just in case.”
“Good,” Donnor said wearily. The human knight was soaked with sweat. He’d kept up with the long-striding elves despite the fifty pounds of steel he wore, but he heaved a deep sigh of relief as he began to unbuckle the straps and fastenings of his heavy armor. “Once I sit down, I won’t be getting up for a long time, not even if the king of all serpent men himself comes to murder me in my sleep.”
Maresa sat down nearby, loosed the collar of her scarlet-dyed leather coat, and shrugged her satchel off her shoulder. “Before we get too comfortable, maybe Araevin had better make sure that we got the right crystal. If we have to go back and try it again, I’d rather know right now.”
She handed the satchel to Araevin, who drew out the shard and unwrapped it from the dark cloth Maresa had used to hide it. The piece was smooth and cool to the touch, roughly daggerlike in shape, and a little more than half a foot from tip to tip. In his hands it seemed to stir, as if it recognized the magic in his touch, and a bright violet- white gleam appeared in its depths. He turned it slowly in his hand, studying it closely.
“Well?” the genasi demanded.
“It’s a piece of the Gatekeeper’s Crystal. I saw the shard we kept in the vaults of Tower Reilloch years ago. I don’t know for certain if this is the same one, but if it isn’t, it’s an exact copy.”
“Can you sense the presence of the second or third shards, Araevin?” Nesterin asked.
Araevin allowed his perception to sink into the shard, absorbing the faint pearlescent glimmers that danced in its depths, groping for a spark of recognition or acknowledgment. Unlike the selukiira of Saelethil Dlardrageth, there was no guiding consciousness preserved in the Gatekeeper’s Crystal. He could feel the power of the thing, a hidden wellspring of living magic waiting to be tapped, but the shard was not aware of itself or its surroundings.
While his companions watched, Araevin whispered the words of a finding spell and fixed his attention on the gleaming white crystal in his hand. At once he felt a sharp jolt of connection, as if the shard had sent some intangible call echoing out from the small clearing in the great forest, a call that swept swiftly and silently across the miles. And he felt an answer, a keen ringing tone somewhere far to the east and north. It was the sort of shrill, high tone he might have expected if he’d struck the shard in his hand with a small hammer. He scrambled to his feet without even noticing, and looked in the direction of the sound. “There,” he breathed. “Did you feel that?” Maresa and Donnor simply shrugged, but Nesterin frowned. “I thought I sensed something, but I could not tell you what it was I felt,” the star elf said.
“That direction,” Araevin said, pointing. “Very far, I think. Possibly hundreds of miles.”
“Hundreds?” Maresa picked up a handful of pine needles from the forest floor and threw them down again with a snort of disgust. “I’m getting tired of crisscrossing Faerun chasing after your intuition, Araevin. Could you just for once go looking for an ancient elven gemstone that’s been left out in some close-by, cheerful spot? For that matter, I’m tired of chasing after gems. Why is everything a damned gem or crystal?”
“Durability,” Araevin answered. “The sun elves of old knew ways to fashion crystal that remains almost indestructible today, thousands of years after it was cast. We’ve been chasing after crystals because that’s the form in which magical power and knowledge from elder days was preserved.”
“It was a rhetorical question,” Maresa grumbled. “So how far east do we have to go? Back to Cormanthor? Thay? Kara-Tur?”
“I am not certain,” Araevin admitted. He could clearly sense the direction, but the distant ringing of the crystal had held an odd note, something he could not easily put into words. Somehow he doubted that it would be as simple as riding toward the dawn until they found the second shard. “We’ll make for Myth Glaurach before we do anything else. We need to collect our mounts and provision ourselves for a long journey.”
The short summer night passed quietly, and in the morning they retraced their steps back toward the conquered fey’ri stronghold. They reached the ruined city in the hills late in the day, and passed the night among the wood elves who guarded the place. Beneath the lanterns and starlight, Myth Glaurach’s overgrown ruins did not seem as sad as they once did-but then again, the songs of the wood elves had a way of dispelling the gloom. They rested for the night in the small chapel where they had stayed a few tendays before, when the whole of Seiveril’s Crusade was encamped in the ruins.
Early the following day, Gaerradh took her leave of the small company. “I must go visit Lady Morgwais in the High Forest and tell her what happened in Nar Kerymhoarth,” she said. “And after that, I should go see Alustriel and Methrammar in Silverymoon. But I wish you luck in your search for the remaining shards.”
“Thank you for your help, Gaerradh,” Araevin said. “Sweet water and light laughter until we meet again.”
He bowed to the wood elf, but she shook her head and caught him in a rib-cracking embrace. “Sun elves,” she laughed. “Would it hurt you to smile?” Then she treated Jorin, Nesterin, and Maresa the same way, and even Donnor Kerth too, which left the fierce Tethyrian blushing-he was chivalrous to a fault and had firmly fixed ideas about how a devout man should act in the presence of the fairer sex. But he rallied enough to timidly pat her back before letting her go.
They spent the rest of the morning gathering provisions and seeing to their mounts, and rode out of Myth Glaurach in the afternoon. This time Araevin determined to head north into the wilds of Turnstone Pass. The day was warm and mild, and they were high enough in the hills that even in midsummer it would not grow uncomfortably hot, certainly not compared to the depths of the Yuirwood or Cormanthor.
The road climbed into the foothills north of the old city, winding between steep hills covered in thick pine forest. Sometimes the white ribbon of a waterfall slicing from the rocky heights above appeared through the trees. After a few miles, the road rose steadily higher along the shoulders of the hills, and the trees thinned out, offering broad views of the country to the east and south. Nesterin, riding beside Araevin, spent much of his time admiring the view.
“This is striking country,” the star elf observed. “Those are the Nether Mountains?”
“Yes, on both sides of the pass.” Araevin pointed toward the northeast, where the peaks rose bare and brown above the green mantle of forest covering their shoulders. “Netheril once stood on the far side of the mountains. The desert Anauroch lies there now.”
Nesterin glanced at Araevin. “Our path leads us into the desert?”
“Not if I can help it,” Araevin said. “I think our journey should begin at the House of Long Silences. There is a portal only a few miles farther up this road that will take us there.”
“The House of Long Silences?”
“It’s a meeting place of portals in the Ardeep Forest, near Waterdeep. I believe that some of the doors there lead into the Waymeet itself, and that in turn is a place where thousands of portals come together. I think that if we look there, we may find a gate that will take us much closer to the place where the second shard awaits.”
After a while, they reached a place where a small side trail zigzagged up toward a lonely watchtower overlooking the pass. Little remained of the old tower, only a hollow ring of stone standing less than twenty feet tall. Mounds of stone blocks gathered around the stump, hinting at the height the tower had once possessed.
“A guard post for the pass raised by the humans of Ascalhorn,” Araevin explained to the others. “I think it was razed by the fiends of Hellgate Keep soon after they overran the city.”
He dismounted, and took his horse’s reins in hand, leading his friends past the stump of the tower to the broken remains of a small shrine. Here, a doorway of stone with a lintel carved in the shape of a flowering vine
