“The Sable Wyverns of Arrabar,” Selkirk said. He stood and gazed out over the long shadows of the sunset. “I know what you are speaking of. For what it is worth, I gave no orders for the pillaging of these lands. But I can’t say that Borstag Duncastle-or his ‘advisors’-did not. I should have done more to put a stop to that.”
“The sellswords responsible must be dismissed from your service immediately,” Theremen said. “They are murderers and thieves. Dalesfolk fighting under my banner will fall on the Sable Wyverns at the first opportunity.”
“As I understand it, Dalesfolk have already fallen on the Chondathans, Lord Theremen,” Selkirk said. “The folk of Glen delivered a sharp defeat to the Sable Wyverns before the daemonfey unleashed their demons against us. But I will have the survivors placed under arrest. I deplore their atrocities as much as you do.”
Seiveril glanced at the lord of Deepingdale. “Is that enough, Theremen?”
The lord of Deepingdale grimaced, but he nodded. “You have no idea of what I will have to do to explain myself to my neighbors. But I am satisfied. I will march with you.”
“Then I consider myself satisfied, too,” Seiveril said. He looked over to Fflar. “Starbrow, what is the best way to attack Myth Drannor?”
Fflar took a deep breath. He had anticipated that question for days. He had half-hoped that Araevin would return with some potent magic to make the task easier, but he didn’t know if they could wait on Araevin’s mission any longer.
“Give me parchment and a quill,” Fflar said. “I’ll start by sketching what I recall of the city.”
The empty chamber on the other side of the wall led to one of the long, lightless passageways of the palace. The still, cold air was stale, and dust lay thick on the old mosaics of the floor. Araevin and his companions looked up and down the passageway, but they did not see or hear any signs of pursuit.
“Which way now, Araevin?” Jorin asked.
“I am not sure,” the mage answered. “The second shard is still below us, but I don’t know where we can find a descending stair.”
“Pick a direction and go!” Maresa snapped. “It won’t take Selydra’s slaves long to figure out where we must be.”
“Left, then.” Araevin set out at an easy run, loping down the hallway with a wand gripped in his left hand. He could already feel his strength returning, but he would not care to fight another magical duel yet.
Is that what happened to the swordwights? he wondered. Did the Pale Sybil consume them too? That would make her centuries old, perhaps millennia. Who could guess how long she had ruled over the cold, changeless dark of Lorosfyr?
Araevin’s guess was better than he thought, for the travelers came to a spiraling staircase leading deeper into the palace.
“This way,” he said, and started down cautiously.
It was possible that Selydra might think he was heading for the Long Stair and the way back to the surface world, but he had to believe that the Pale Sybil would expect him to try for the shard and seek to stop him.
They were halfway down when the muffled blasts of vast wing beats followed them into the stairwell. Araevin hesitated, then turned to face the threat pursuing them, whatever it was. Donnor Kerth drew his broadsword and moved to the topmost step, crouching behind his shield. Jorin unslung his bow and laid an arrow on the string.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” the ranger muttered.
“Steady, my friends,” Araevin said.
He took a deep breath, and their pursuers appeared. The things were taller than ogres, with black batlike wings and faces of rumpled, eyeless flesh. Nests of fanged tentacles sprouted from the center of their hunched torsos, writhing and snapping. The horrors dropped down on the small company in a single swift rush, clawed fists and slavering lamprey-maws reaching out of the darkness.
“Courage!” Nesterin cried, and he loosed an arrow at the nearest of the monsters.
The white-fletched shaft sank into the blank, rugose head, and the beast sagged to the steps. It floundered awkwardly, plucking at the arrow, but Donnor darted up three steps and hewed at it with his broadsword. Jorin peppered the next of the monsters, killing it in midair. The creature dropped heavily to the steps and rolled, sweeping Donnor off his feet and carrying him back down the stairs.
Maresa’s crossbow sang out, and Araevin let loose with his disrupting wand. A bright blue beam of shimmering thunder blasted back up the stairwell, pulping the creatures’ foul, purple-black bodies and rending great shadowy wings. More of the horrors crumpled to the steps or floundered into the curving wall, but still others came on. Before Araevin could find another safe target for his wand, one of the monsters vaulted over the struggling Donnor and hurled itself against Maresa. It caught the genasi with one taloned hand and dragged her close to its torso so that its slick, snapping jaws could fasten themselves to her.
“Get off me!” the genasi shrieked. She dropped her crossbow to the steps and yanked out a poniard with her free hand, slashing wildly at the tentacle-maws groping for her flesh.
“I’m here!” Nesterin drew his own sword and threw himself into the monster’s reach to bury his point in its side. Thick black blood welled up from the creature’s wounds. It shuddered so violently that it wrenched the star elf off his feet, and shook itself free of the blade and released Maresa, flapping back up into the air. The genasi snarled a savage curse at the monster before retreating away from the winged horrors.
A few steps above Araevin, Donnor struggled to his feet and hacked the creature fumbling at him to pieces, while Jorin ducked, dodged, and shot arrow after arrow at the hovering monsters above.
“More are coming!” the ranger cried.
“I see them,” Araevin answered. He dropped down a step or two and drew out a pinch of sulfur from a small pouch at his belt. Rolling the yellow powder between his fingers, he quickly incanted a fire spell and hurled a small red bead of flame up the stairs. “Fall back!” he warned his friends.
Blades flashing furiously, the company managed to back down a dozen more steps, while the many-fanged horrors pressed down the broad stairwell after them. Then, with a stone-shattering roar, Araevin’s fiery bead detonated behind them. A searing wave of crimson fire scoured the stairwell above, consuming the creatures outright. Shrill shrieks of pain filled the stairs above, only to die away in awful, wet mewling.
“Come on!” Araevin called to his friends. “We should keep moving before more of Selydra’s minions follow us.”
They reached the floor below, and found a great hall with passageways leading in several directions. Araevin paused only a moment to glance down each before he chose a high bevel-vaulted passage leading to his left. He could sense the second shard, almost as if he heard some small and distant sound that he could follow if he concentrated on it. Moving with more confidence, he led his companions through several empty rooms and past strange well-like pits that punctuated the lower passages.
They came to a dark doorway guarded by strong and terrible sigils, evil runes that glowed with power when they came too near. Araevin studied them and spoke a countering spell to suppress the door’s defenses. Then he led the company into the chamber beyond-a round conjury with a low ceiling, its floor pocked with five more of the black wells spaced around its edges. In the center of the chamber a small stone podium stood, and on that podium rested a small iron coffer. Even through the locked iron box Araevin could sense the presence of the shard.
“There,” he said. “The shard is in the chest. I can feel it.”
Maresa scowled at the small coffer, one hand clamped to her side where the winged monster’s lamprey-jaws had gouged her flesh. “I don’t suppose we can just walk off with that,” she said. “It’s trapped with magic, or I’m an ogre’s stepchild.”