Nesterin stared around the poisoned forest in horror. “This is what the nilshai have brought to us?” His voice broke, and he hid his face. “Better that it had been unmade entirely, than to be corrupted like this!”
“Nesterin, is this the road to Mooncrescent? Do we continue?” Araevin asked.
The star elf studied the landscape. “It could be. The lay of the land is right. But this is not Sildeyuir. It is a foul lie.”
Araevin was not sure if the place was as unreal as Nesterin believed. Some great and terrible magic was at work, that much was plain to see. Maybe Sildeyuir’s corrupted lands had acquired the traits of the nilshai world through some unforeseen planar conjunction. The creeping blight could have been a terrible spell or curse created by the nilshai to change the star elves’ homeland into a place where they might exist comfortably. Perhaps some other force was at work-the presence of a malign god, the corruption of an evil artifact, something.
Whatever it was, Araevin knew for certain that he did not want to remain in the rotting forest a moment longer than he had to.
“Let’s go on,” he said to his companions. “The sooner we find the tower, the sooner we can leave.”
They set out at once, picking their way along the overgrown roadway. The paving stones were slick and wet and made for difficult footing. Bulging, fluid-filled fungi dangled obscenely from the branches of the dying trees along the roadway, some overhanging the road itself. The whole place dripped, stank, and seemed to almost murmur and hiss with the rustlings and clicking of unwholesome things that wriggled and crawled in the slime and putrefaction of the forest floor. From time to time they encountered huge mounded balls of green-glowing fungus blocking the road, and when they set their swords to the stuff to clear a path, it broke with soft popping sounds and disgorged emerald streams of foulness across the path.
“We must put an end to this,” Nesterin said. “When we return, I will have Lord Tessaernil send for the other great mages of the realm. Together they may be able to stem this foul tide. Or, if they cannot, perhaps they can rescribe the borders of Sildeyuir, excluding the corrupted parts.”
“If I can help you, I will,” Araevin promised. “This is an abomination.”
“Shhh!” hissed Maresa. She stood still at the rear of the party, looking back the way they had come. “There is something following us.”
“What do you see?” Kerth asked, peering into the darkness behind them. His human eyes did not fare well in the thick shadows and witch-light of the place.
“It’s not what I see, it’s what I hear,” Maresa said. “It’s big, and it’s coming closer. Can’t you hear the toadstools popping back there?”
They all fell silent for a moment, straining to listen. Araevin caught the sound almost at once, a distant slopping or squelching as if someone had filled a bellows half full of water and was working it slowly. And as Maresa had said, there was an awful wet popping sound that preceded the other thing. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what might make a sound like that, but there was no doubt that it was coming closer.
“Gods,” murmured Jorin Kell Harthan. “What is that?”
“I prefer not to find out,” Ilsevele answered. She tapped the ranger on the shoulder and pointed down the road. “Come on, let’s pick up the pace. Maybe it’s moving across our path instead of following us.”
“Optimist,” muttered Maresa, but the genasi did not disagree when Jorin and Ilsevele set off at an easy trot, pressing on down the road. They made another mile or more, by Araevin’s reckoning. Abruptly they emerged from the closeness of the forest, and Araevin felt a great open space before him. He strained to see in the darkness, and gradually realized that sickly green luminescence marked out the great ramparts of a dark citadel before them.
Even though he could only catch a glimmer of its shape, Araevin recognized the place at once. It was the empty citadel he’d seen in his vision, the tower that Morthil raised long ago. Morthil’s shining door was near, and with it the secret of the Telmiirkara Neshyrr. A lambent gleam stirred in the heart of the Nightstar, and sibilant whispers of ancient secrets gathered in the corners of his mind. Saelethil knew he was close, and the evil shade was watching him from the depths of the selukiira; Araevin could feel it.
“Is this the place, Nesterin?” Jorin asked.
The star elf gazed on the citadel’s moss-grown battlements and said, “Yes. That is Mooncrescent Tower.”
“Why in the world did your mages build it so close to the edge of your realm?” Maresa asked.
Nesterin grimaced. “It was not always like this. I think things have been slipping toward the mist for some time now. The tower disappeared from our realm decades ago. I suppose it has been here all that time.”
“Inside, and quickly,” Ilsevele said. “We are not alone out here.”
They followed the road to a steep, climbing causeway that wound up the face of the low hill on which the tower sat. The air was warm, humid, and still, so thick that small sounds vanished in the darkness. At the top of the causeway, a great dark gate yawned open, leading into the lightless depths of the ancient stronghold.
“Be careful,” Nesterin said to the others. “There were powerful spells in this place long ago, and the nilshai are drawn to magic.”
Araevin drew his disruption wand from his belt, and paused to review the spells he held ready in his mind. Donnor Kerth slid his broadsword from its sheath, and shrugged his battered shield off his shoulder, while Maresa cocked her crossbow and set a bolt in the weapon. Then Araevin spoke the words of a minor spell, and illuminated the tower’s open gateway. The surrounding darkness quickly smothered the light of the spell, but it carried a short distance at least.
Mooncrescent Tower was better described as a large castle than a simple tower or keep. High curtain walls and strong ramparts enclosed a broad courtyard in which a number of once-elegant buildings stood. At the far side of the bailey stood the keep proper, a sheer edifice of graying stone that disappeared into the oppressive darkness above Araevin’s feeble light. The courtyard beyond the tower gates was choked by an orchard of once proud old fruit trees, all dead and rotting. Hanging curtains of green-black moss fouled the elegant arcade of arches that ran along the foot of the walls, and the trees were black with dank, sagging bark.
“This place is huge,” said Jorin. “Where do we start?”
“The front hall of the keep,” Araevin answered. “That’s the place I saw in my vision. Morthil’s Door is there.”
They crossed the courtyard carefully, brushing through the wet hanging branches of the dead trees. Weed-choked fountains and mold-grown statues were hidden in the dark foliage, a reminder of the elf artisans who had once raised the place. At the far side of the orchard, they climbed up a broad flight of steps to the keep’s doorway. Like the castle gate, it stood open, lightless as a pit. Araevin could hardly make out anything more than the silhouettes of his companions in the heavy darkness, despite his light spell. He couldn’t imagine how Jorin or Donnor could see a thing.
He led the way up the steps and into the keep’s hall, the Nightstar whispering in his mind. Once the place had been a great chamber indeed, with a soaring arched ceiling and high galleries overhead. The walls were painted with rich frescoes, but the foulness of the corrupt plane had had its way with the paintings and the majestic old tapestries. Thick gray lumps of gelatinous mold left the paintings mottled and leprous, and the tapestries drooped to the ground.
The shining silver door was nowhere in sight.
“Araevin, what are we looking for?” Ilsevele asked. “This is the right place, isn’t it?”