“I think you chose the wrong god to swear by,” said Jorin. “I promise you this place has never seen a dawn, not since the making of the world.”
“Donnor, do you have a light spell ready?” Araevin asked.
The human knight grimaced. “I prayed to Lathander for almost nothing else when I rose today.”
“Cast one now, please.”
The Lathanderite held out his holy symbol, a bronze sunburst, and spoke the words of his holy prayer. His symbol gleamed brightly and began to shine, but Araevin thought the light spell seemed noticeably weaker than he might have expected. It was not unusual for certain spots to suppress magic of different schools, and he could well believe that the abyss before them muted light spells. When Donnor’s light gained its full strength, such as it was, Araevin stepped close to the edge and tossed his own illuminated copper into the darkness.
The coin spun lazily down into the dark, falling past a featureless wall that seemed to plunge straight down. It dwindled into the deeps, receding farther and farther. And it kept on going, a bright point of light that fell, and fell, and fell, until Araevin felt sick at the sight of it.
“Aillesel Seldarie,” he breathed.
“By all the golden heavens, how far down does that go?” Donnor muttered.
“I counted thirty-three heartbeats before I lost sight of it,” Jorin said. He shivered. “It must be miles.”
“At least you’d have plenty of time to make your peace with the gods before you hit bottom,” said Maresa. “You might even have time to eulogize yourself, too.”
Giving the widest berth possible to the yawning darkness waiting on the left, they followed the ledge to the right. Araevin expected that they might travel a few hundred yards alongside the silent abyss before their path turned back into some smaller cavern or crevice, but as they walked the road simply followed the wall of the abyss, going on for what must have been mile after mile. From time to time the road climbed up or down a few steps at a time, and on a couple of occasions they passed by deep alcoves or niches cut into the rock wall at their right-safe resting places created by or for travelers who went that way, Araevin guessed. But what truly disturbed him were the staircases they passed on their left. Every so often they would come to a squat trapezoidal column in a landing of sorts overlooking the edge, marking the place where a set of steep, narrow stairs climbed up out of the measureless blackness below. Someone-or something, he reminded himself-had delved ambitiously in the cold black emptiness of the abyss.
After an eternity of marching alongside the abyss, they stopped and rested in one of the alcoves. For the comfort of his friends, Araevin covered the opening of the place with an illusion of barren rock, so that they could build a small fire from a little store of firewood Donnor and Jorin carried in their packs. A warm meal cheered them somewhat, but all too soon they had to allow their little fire to gutter down to glowing embers, and the darkness outside seemed to press in on them with an almost insatiable hunger. Without even realizing they were doing it, they fell silent and sat still listening to the sound of the dark, straining to catch even the tiniest hint of something from the vast space beyond their small refuge.
Araevin found himself crouching forward on the edge of his seat, his arms wrapped close around his body, an awful suspense hanging over him. He shook himself a little, and managed to bring himself around to look at his friends, only to find everyone else sitting silently in the dark, faces sick with dread.
By all the gods, what is this place? he wondered. What is it we think we’re listening for? “Nesterin,” he rasped. He cleared his throat, and tried again. “Nisterin, I think we could use a little music. Something to alleviate the darkness.”
The star elf looked at him blankly for a moment, and nodded numbly. He drew a small flute from his vest pocket, and began to play-awkwardly at first, but then with a little more confidence and feeling. He did not try a merry air, but instead a small plaintive melody that nevertheless managed to break the unbearable tension. Soon enough they breathed easier and did not sit huddled anxiously against the blackness outside.
“The damnable thing about it,” Donnor managed, “is that it’s so weirdly still. It’s a vast space out there, miles long, miles high, and in all that space there’s not a breath of wind moving. We’re on the side of a mountain thousands of feet high, and it’s as quiet as the inside of a mausoleum.”
“It’s unnatural,” Araevin agreed. If nothing else, he would have expected to hear the distant sounds of water on stone, or a faint susurrus of air breathing through rock. He started to speak, but Jorin hushed them all with a single curt gesture of his hand.
“Something is coming,” the ranger whispered.
He sat near the opening of the ledge, listening intently. Araevin’s illusionary wall kept any of their faint light from leaking out of the alcove, but that didn’t mean they could not be heard. They all fell silent, and Araevin heard it too-a faint rustling, slow, deliberate, accompanied by thin wheezing.
Maresa glided over to crouch next to Jorin and peer through the wall. Unlike the elves, who could see well with little light but couldn’t manage with none at all, the genasi could see a little even in absolute darkness-a gift of her elemental bloodline. She frowned in puzzlement, staring at something the rest of them could not see.
After a moment she looked back to Araevin and whispered, “It’s a gnome of some kind, crawling along the ledge. He’s sick or injured, hardly moving at all. What do we do?”
The sun elf frowned. In the Underdark, it was generally wisest to avoid any interaction you could. After all, who was to say that the wretch outside wasn’t being hunted by mind flayers, drow slavers, or anything else imaginable? But it was simply unthinkable to let a person crawl alone through that fearful blackness. And there was at least some chance that they might learn something if they aided the fellow.
“Help him in,” Araevin said.
Maresa nodded. She and Jorin stepped out onto the ledge, and a moment later they returned to the small alcove with the small, tattered traveler. He was indeed a gnome, only about three feet tall. His skin was gray, and he was bald, with short legs and long arms. Dreadful bloody bruises scored his knees and elbows. Even as Maresa and Jorin helped him into their shelter, the gnome’s arms and legs moved in slow circles, still crawling, his small dark eyes focused on nothing at all as he wheezed and muttered in his own strange tongue.
“What happened to this fellow?” Nesterin asked, horrified.
“Donnor, can you do anything for him?” Araevin asked. “We will see,” the Lathanderite answered. He moved beside the small wretch and studied him for a moment. Then, breathing the words of his healing prayers, he took hold of the gnome’s gnarled hands. A warm golden glow appeared around Donnor’s hands and slowly sank into the gnome’s pebbly hide. The slow, autonomous clawing and scrabbling stopped, and the small creature heaved a ragged sigh of relief. In a few moments he came to himself and looked up at Araevin and his friends, his gray face taut with suspicion.
“Do you speak Common?” Araevin asked him. “Not much. A little,” the gnome croaked in a surprisingly deep voice.
“What is your name?”
“Galdindormm. I am called Galdindormm.”
“Well, Galdindormm, I am Araevin Teshurr of Evermeet. My companions Maresa, Donnor, Jorin, and Nesterin. You are a deep gnome?”
“Yes. Svirfneblin, the deep gnomes, you call us.” He tried to sit up but was simply too weak for it. “Why would you help me?”
“You were in need,” Araevin answered. “That is enough for us. Though we hope that you might be able to tell us something about this portion of the Underdark we’ve wandered into. We are strangers to this place, as you can surely see.”