bronze as the dead warriors followed the travelers.
Araevin drew his cloak closer around his shoulders and paused to study the facade of a public building rising above them. It seemed to be a library, or perhaps a courthouse. He started toward the steps leading up to the dark doorway, but two of the swordwights moved to bar his path. With a shrug, Araevin turned away.
“Are you really going to accept Selydra’s invitation?” Nesterin asked him in a low voice.
Maresa scowled fiercely. “Tell me you’re not going to bed that spell-spinning vixen, Araevin!” the genasi hissed. “She’ll stick a knife in you or poison you or worse the minute you let down your guard. I can see it in her soulless black eyes!”
“I do not trust her any more than you do, Maresa,” the mage answered. He also kept his voice down. The swordwights did not appear to be listening in, but that didn’t mean it would be wise to speak too freely in their presence. “I accepted her offer because I was not ready to offend her by declining.”
“She seems to be interested in you, Araevin,” Nesterin offered. “I hesitate to suggest it, but perhaps if you played along, you might find a way through this impasse.”
“Or he might find that her bed is the most dangerous place in this city,” Maresa retorted. “Have you seen the way she looks at him? She hungers after Araevin, Nesterin. She has evil designs on him, I am sure of it.”
Araevin held up his hand, interrupting the conversation. “I think I have found what I am looking for,” he said.
They had reached a courtyard close to the edge of the abyss, with a tall citadel or palace overlooking it. The plaza was ringed by a colonnade of angular pillars, each scribed with the strict runic script of the long-dead city. Statues of forgotten heroes stood among the columns, each gazing sadly out toward the center of the court, where a great geometric mosaic of green, white, and purple tile gleamed in the dim light.
“What? What is it?” Donnor asked. The Lathanderite spoke over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the swordwights.
“One moment,” Araevin answered. He took a deep breath and examined the place, searching for any hint of secret enchantments or hidden wards. He could feel the whispers of old power in the place. Before him the mosaic glowed with the familiar hues of portal magic… strange and overly intricate to Araevin’s experience of such things, but a dormant portal nonetheless. He wove a spell of revealing, examining the magical doorway built into the tiled floor of the court. “I thought so.”
His friends waited. Behind them, Selydra’s swordwights watched impassively. “There is a portal network within this city,” Araevin said. He nodded at the mosaic, and lowered his voice. “We can return to the palace any time we like. For that matter, we can go anywhere the portals reach.”
“Can you tell where all of the portals are?” Jorin asked.
“Yes, though I couldn’t begin to guess what might be waiting for us on the other side of each door. I think I’ve already seen several of the portals, though.”
“So what do you propose?” Nesterin asked.
Araevin shot a look at the swordwights surrounding the company. “I think it is clear that anyone who employs servants such as these cannot be trusted. Our hostess intends to ensnare me if she can. Instead of waiting for her to spring her trap, I think we should try for the shard.”
“We won’t be welcome in Lorosfyr for very long,” Donnor observed.
“Good,” said Maresa. “It’s cold and it’s dark and I hate this place. I’m with Araevin.”
Jorin, Nesterin, and Donnor exchanged looks, and nodded. “We agree,” the Lathanderite said quietly. “How do we begin?”
“Stand on the mosaic,” Araevin said.
He led his friends to the center of the courtyard and paused on the delicate tile. The swordwights followed, but only two of the creatures actually stopped on the mosaic itself. Araevin took a deep breath, and began to work a portal-waking spell.
Selydra’s minions fixed their dead gazes on him but did not intervene. Evidently, the Pale Sybil had not instructed the creatures to stop Araevin from casting spells that did not obviously violate their instructions. That will change in a moment, he decided. Beneath his outstretched hands the blue, green, and purple chips that made up the old mosaic awoke to luminescence. Confidently Araevin grasped the metaphysical presence of the gate and reshaped its governing rules to suit his needs.
“Be ready,” he warned his friends.
The mosaic glowed brighter, and suddenly seemed to vanish beneath their feet. There was an instant of motion, and Araevin and his friends were standing in the courtyard of the sussur tree, in front of the portal he had seen before. The two swordwights who had been standing on the mosaic when Araevin cast his spell stood alongside them. Despite their lifeless silence, the creatures were quick to realize that the travelers were no longer where they were supposed to be. The two Lorosfyrans raised their halberds and rushed at Araevin, but Jorin and Donnor intervened. In the space of ten heartbeats Araevin’s friends cut down the undead creatures.
The sun elf quickly swept the courtyard with his eyes, thinking. He settled on a hallway leading into darkness on the far side of the plaza.
“This way,” he said, and he loped across the flagstones under the white tree and took the steps at the far end two at a time, descending into a long passage that ran deeper into the palace. Whatever else happened, he did not want to linger too close to the sussur tree and its null-magic aura.
The small band hurried through the dimly lit corridors, past huge empty chambers and echoing halls. Araevin paused every few yards to stretch out with his senses, seeking some hint as to the direction of the second shard. It was close, he could feel it, yet it was not clear which passages might lead him closer to his goal. They broke out into another courtyard, this one a narrow cloister surrounded by high walls, and headed for the hallway that continued on the far side.
They were halfway across when dozens of the swordwights poured into the court ahead of them. Araevin halted, and started to retreat the way they had come-only to meet more of the creatures following them, with one of the pallid giants shambling up behind.
“Well, I did not think that Selydra would be truly surprised if we tried for the shard,” Araevin said.
“Damn the luck,” Donnor grated. The Lathanderite took a deep breath and dropped the visor of his helm. “Forward or back, Araevin?”
“Forward,” Araevin answered.
He turned back to seal off their pursuers with a spell, but a strange white radiance abruptly glimmered in the ranks ahead of them. Streamers of pale mist collected in mid-air and coalesced into the form of the Pale Sybil. Cold fury blazed in Selydra’s eyes as she glared at the travelers caught in the center of the courtyard.
“I had thought better of you, Araevin,” Selydra hissed. “While you took your rest in my hall and dined at my table, you plotted treachery of the basest sort! Why, you are nothing more than a common thief.” She drew her scepter of black platinum from the folds of her dress and motioned at the bronze-armored swordwights accompanying her. “Slay all but the mage,” she commanded. With dull rasps the creatures drew their weapons and rushed at Araevin and his friends.
“Donnor, keep her minions at bay!” Araevin barked. “Leave Selydra to me.”
She faced Araevin, her dark eyes narrowed. Araevin did not strike at once, instead waiting to counter whatever spell the Pale Sybil attempted. Selydra hesitated as well, doubtless intending a similar strategy. For a moment neither mage began casting, and they watched each other warily as Araevin’s comrades leaped forward to meet the silent rush of the Pale Sybil’s minions. Steel rang against bronze as battle was joined.
“It seems that one of us does not have the measure of his or her foe,” Selydra said softly. “Let us find out whom.” With a small scowl, she began to speak an enchantment designed to ensnare Araevin’s mind and bend his will to hers.
Araevin hastily incanted a negating spell. For a moment Selydra’s voice seemed to whisper enticingly in his ears, but then the enchantment unraveled and dissipated. He waved his hand to brush away the fading embers of her spell and gather himself for the next enchantment, expecting another attack on the heels of the first.
“I see you are not so easily taken, Araevin,” Selydra called. “I knew you would prove a worthy adversary!”
“I have no wish to be your slave,” Araevin answered.
He began a spell of his own, summoning out of the darkness a whirling chain of emerald-glowing links. The chain crackled and hissed with an oddly grating sound, growing louder and stronger as it emerged from the
