Which is exactly what they did, he reminded himself. Sarya’s fey’ri legion slumbered here in magical stasis for the better part of fifty centuries.
They descended from the gallery to the floor of the shrine by means of a stone slab levitated in midair by some ancient magic. Then they proceeded through an ornate archway into another hall, this one with a whole forest of thick stone columns, entwined by carvings of flowering vines and serpents.
The room smelled of death.
Araevin frowned and moved forward cautiously, glancing into each row of pillars as they passed. Then he discovered the source of the sickly scent hanging in the chamber. Half a dozen bodies were sprawled on the floor near the room’s center: four lean, ruby-skinned warriors with broken black wings, and two green-scaled serpentine creatures. Signs of a furious battle were evident all around the pillared hall-the black scorch-marks of fire spells, pockmarks of broken stone in the walls and pillars, even a shattered sword on the floor.
“Those are fey’ri,” Donnor said flatly. “What are they doing here?”
Araevin studied the scene carefully before answering. “The same thing we are,” he decided. “Searching for the shard of the Gatekeeper’s Crystal.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I can see lingering auras of magic.” Araevin pointed to an empty dais at the far end of the room. “Something powerful rested there not long ago, but now it is gone. I think it must have been the shard. Besides, Sarya Dlardrageth knew enough about the Crystal to steal it in the first place. It makes sense that she eventually would have sent some of her minions to recover the device.”
“What about the snake creatures?” Maresa asked. She suppressed a shiver of distaste. “Were they looking for the shard too? For that matter, what are they?”
“I’ve seen those serpent monsters before,” Gaerradh said. “They are called ophidians-clever and vicious creatures. Some are sorcerers, too. They haunt the upper reaches of the dungeon.”
“If the shard was here at some point, where is it now?” Nesterin asked. The star elf studied the battle scene, his mouth set in a thoughtful frown. “Did other fey’ri survive the battle and take it from this place?”
“I do not think so,” Jorin said. The Yuir ranger moved over to the dais, studying the floor closely. “There’s very little dust here, but there is enough blood on the floor to tell an interesting tale. A snake-creature like those two over there slithered over this dais, leaving a smear of blood-there, and there.” He followed the faint traces away from the dais, to another one of the thick pillars in the chamber, and circled it several times, frowning. Then he looked up and smiled. “Our missing serpent monster left the room through this pillar. There’s a hidden door here.”
“How long ago did these fey’ri and the serpent creatures die?” Araevin asked.
Jorin and Gaerradh exchanged glances. “It’s hard to tell in the cold, dry air of a place like this,” Gaerradh said. “But the blood’s dry and brown, not at all sticky. I’d guess several days.”
“Then there’s little reason to hurry.” Araevin moved to the far end of the pillared hall, well away from the grisly battle scene. He shrugged his rucksack from his shoulder, unbuckled his sword belt, and sat down with his back to the wall. “Let’s get some rest before we follow the serpent monster into its lair.”
Accompanied by an escort of two wood elf scouts and eight lancers of the Silver Guard, Fflar and Ilsevele rode northeast from Deepingdale, following the narrow, swift Glaemril. By the end of their first day’s ride they passed from Deepingdale into the wide, thinly settled borderlands that lay north of Tasseldale and west of Battledale. Long ago more people had lived in these parts; the small company rode past the lonely stumps of abandoned watchtowers and rambling old manors whose lands were sectioned off by long fieldstone walls, overgrown by thick briars.
They made camp for the night in the ruins of a fine old manor house not far from the Pool of Yeven, the place where the Glaemril and Semberflow joined the Ashaba. Fflar looked carefully to his mount, a fine roan stallion called Thunder, while Ilsevele tended her own horse Swiftwind, a gray destrier her father had brought from Evermeet. The night was warm, and she quickly discarded her leather doublet and arming coat, working in the thin white tunic she wore beneath her armor. Fflar found himself admiring her over his horse’s back; she was strikingly pretty, with a graceful figure and eyes of brilliant green, shadowed by some unspoken concern that creased her brow.
She’s spoken for, he reminded himself. Araevin is my friend. Besides, she’s the granddaughter of Elkhazel Miritar. I died five centuries before she was even born. But… if you didn’t count the years that I was in Arvandor, that would make us close to the same age, wouldn’t it? I’ve only lived about a century and a half in this world, even if most of that was hundreds of years ago, before she was born.
Fflar scowled at himself, and decided that it was long past time to redirect his thoughts. “How do you think Araevin and the others are faring?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered, a little more sharply than he might have expected. Fflar paused, brush in hand, and waited. After a moment, Ilsevele sighed and looked up to meet his eyes. “He said that he was going to start his search in the ruins of Nar Kerymhoarth. I suppose they’re exploring the Nameless Dungeon even as we speak.”
Fflar sensed something unspoken in her reply. Then he puzzled it out. “You wonder if your place is with Araevin, don’t you?”
“I am concerned for him. And the rest of our companions, too. But I do not doubt my decision, Starbrow.” Ilsevele returned to rubbing down Swiftwind. The small gray mare nickered in pleasure, and nuzzled Ilsevele’s back. “I am certain that we must not fight the humans of these lands, not if there is any chance of making peace.”
“If you are confident in your decision, then what troubles you?”
Ilsevele shook her fine copper hair out of her eyes and arranged her tack and saddle neatly on the ground. Then she looked away across the overgrown fields surrounding the old manor. Glimmers of sunset still played in the clouds high overhead, but the forest shadows were dark and impenetrable in the deepening dusk. “I know I am doing what is right, but… I didn’t want to go with Araevin.”
“Didn’t want to go with him?” Fflar frowned. “There is nothing to trouble you there, Ilsevele. You see your duty differently than he sees his. There is no fault in that.”
“That isn’t what I meant, Starbrow.” Ilsevele glanced over her shoulder at him, and looked away. He thought he saw the glimmer of a tear on her cheek. “Araevin has changed, and I am not speaking of the color of his eyes or the high magic in his heart. The last few months have awakened him from some long Reverie. I think I only really knew him when he was dreaming away his days in Evermeet.”
“Someone had to do what he did,” Fflar said. “It’s a good thing that he was the equal of the challenge, isn’t it? Without Araevin’s skill, his determination, I do not know if we could have beaten the daemonfey at the Lonely Moor.”
“I know. But have you seen how Mooncrescent Tower marked him?” Ilsevele shook her head. “I can’t help but think that it’s dangerous to want to be something other than what you are. You may get exactly what you want.”
Fflar shrugged awkwardly. He was beginning to fear that he might not be the right person to hear out Ilsevele’s heartache, but that was his problem, not hers.
“Give him time, Ilsevele,” he managed. “He will remember himself, when better days are here.”
She gave him a half-hearted smile and brushed the back of her hand across her eyes. “I hope they come swiftly, then,” she said. She gave herself a small shake and fixed her eyes on him. “Enough of my foolish worries. You still haven’t told me who you are, Starbrow. I think it’s time you stopped dodging my questions.”