“I am Gaerradh,” the wood elf said to Araevin. “You are Araevin? The mage who took this mythal from the daemonfey?”
“I am,” Araevin answered. “These are my companions Maresa, Donnor, Nesterin, and Jorin. I understand you know the way to Nar Kerymhoarth?”
Gaerradh nodded. “I know the place well. I’m the one who discovered what the daemonfey did there.”
“You were there?”
“Yes. That was several months ago, of course. The daemonfey magic ripped the place in half. It looked like a mountain giant had struck off a whole hillside with his axe.”
“Did you see the daemonfey assault on the dungeon?”
“No, I came upon the scene about two days after they had left.”
Maresa leaned forward. “I don’t suppose you found a big magical crystal lying around, did you?”
Gaerradh looked at her blankly. “I am afraid I saw no such thing. What sort of crystal?”
The genasi sat back. “It was worth a try,” she sighed. “It is about this long-” Araevin held up his hands, six inches apart-“and pale white, with a hint of violet light in its depths.”
“Is it important?
“I think so,” said Araevin. He went on to sketch out what he knew of the Gatekeeper’s Crystal, explaining how he hoped to use it to put an end to the manipulations of the daemonfey. “So, we hope to find a shard of the crystal somewhere near Nar Kerymhoarth. Can you tell us where to start?”
Gaerradh shook her head. “We keep people away from the place because it has always been dangerous. But your efforts speak for you, Araevin. If you need to go to Nar Kerymhoarth, I’ll take you and your companions there.”
“Thank you.” Araevin bowed.
Gaerradh returned such a stiff and formal parody of a sun elf bow that he couldn’t help but laugh. “Sun elves are so solemn about everything,” she said with a smile. Then she hurried off while Maresa and Nesterin were still holding their sides, and even dour Donnor was laughing softly.
In the morning, they set out toward the southwest, leaving the tree-grown ruins of Myth Glaurach behind them. They left their mounts in the care of the elves there, since the terrain was better suited to travel afoot. For most of the day they picked their way through the steep foothills and stream-filled gorges of the Talons, the swift cold mountain streams that formed the headwaters of the mighty Delimbiyr River. Then they veered west and skirted the forest verge, staying well to the north of the fuming crevasse where Hellgate Keep once stood.
“Turlang the Treant stands watch over the place, but it isn’t safe to go any nearer,” Gaerradh explained. “The Scoured Legion of Kaanyr Vhok lurks in the pits deep below the ruins of the keep.”
Gaerradh led them to a well-hidden wood elf shelter, concealed high in the branches of a mighty shadowtop, where they camped for the night. Then, a little after sunrise, they continued on their way. Satisfied that they’d circled far enough around Hellgate Keep, the wood elf turned southward and led them into the depths of the High Forest. Araevin was struck by how different the woodland was from the forests of Evermeet or even Cormanthor. The High Forest was old, with a high, thick canopy so dense that sunlight did not reach the forest floor. While summer in Cormanthor had been humid, even sweltering at times, the air beneath the mighty boles was so chilly and damp that he could not believe the month was Flamerule.
“The trees don’t like us,” Donnor muttered when they halted for a brief rest. “I can feel it.”
“They sleep more deeply here than they do in the Yuirwood, but they dream of dark things,” Jorin agreed. “If I were you, I would avoid giving them offense.”
The Lathanderite grimaced and wrung out the hood of his cloak. “I won’t speak ill of them if they extend the same courtesy to me.”
Shortly before sunset, they finally reached the rocky tor of Nar Kerymhoarth, the Nameless Dungeon. A low hill of ancient stone rose up through the forest mantle, its sides draped with young evergreens. Without Gaerradh’s aid, they might easily have missed it altogether. Approaching from the north, there was nothing to indicate that a buried vault lay beneath the hill. The wood elf led them around the base of the tor and finally brought them out into a valley between two arms of the hill.
“Here,” said Gaerradh. “This is the place where the daemonfey opened Nar Kerymhoarth.”
Araevin frowned. All he saw was a desolate clearing in the forest between the rocky arms of the hillside. But then he realized that the defile in which they stood was not a natural valley, but instead a titanic bite taken out of the hillside. Clover and blackberries covered much of the bare dirt, but shorn tree trunks marked the edges of the vast wound, and great boulders lay tumbled out of place all around them. The defile ended in a deep cleft in the hillside, where a dark cave mouth awaited.
“Let me guess,” Maresa said. “In there? That would be our luck. Trolls, demons, devils, whatever in the Nine Hells that monster Grimlight was… I just can’t wait.”
“It may not be inside,” Araevin told her. “The crystal might be lying on the forest floor a mile or two away.”
The genasi eyed the beckoning darkness under the hill. “Care to wager on that?”
Nesterin looked to Araevin. “You said that this was an old elven stronghold,” the star elf said. “Who delved it, and why? What is the story of this place?”
“Its name is Nar Kerymhoarth. My people do not like to speak of it,” Gaerradh answered for Araevin. “Because we don’t tell its name to outsiders, the place became known as the Nameless Dungeon. It’s one of the Seven Citadels of ancient Siluvanede.
“Long ago, three elven kingdoms shared this forest: Eaerlann, Siluvanede, and Sharrven. Siluvanede was the strongest of the three realms. It was a sun elf kingdom whose people hoped to build a realm to rival long-lost Aryvandaar.
“But a new shadow fell over Siluvanede. The sun elves grew proud and ambitious. Many were seduced into swearing allegiance to the daemonfey-though the Dlardrageths remained hidden for a long time, guiding the kingdom’s affairs in secret. Finally war broke out among the three kingdoms; Eaerlann and Sharrven stood together against Siluvanede. That was the Seven Citadels’ War.” Gaerradh glanced at Donnor and Maresa, hesitating, but then she continued. “In the last years of the war, the fey’ri legions appeared. The foulness of the daemonfey was revealed for all to see. But Eaerlann and Sharrven together overcame Siluvanede.
“My ancestors bound the fey’ri and their masters in timeless magical prisons, buried beneath their ancient strongholds. The people of Eaerlann and Sharrven vowed to keep an eternal watch over these places.”
Araevin picked up Gaerradh’s tale. “Sharrven fell not long after Siluvanede,” he said. “Eaerlann endured for many centuries more but was overthrown five hundred years ago, when demonic hordes emerged from Hellgate Keep and destroyed all the lands nearby.”
Gaerradh nodded. “Our watch failed. By the time my people returned to this part of the forest, we’d forgotten the story of the old prisons. We knew that something old and evil slept in the secret strongholds of the forest, and so we kept watch. But we didn’t know why.”
“You seem to have pieced it all together now,” Jorin observed.
“Only because the daemonfey showed us what we’d forgotten.” Gaerradh shrugged. “I only learned the beginning of the story-the story of the fey’ri and the Seven Citadels’ War-after speaking with the sages and scribes of Silverymoon this summer.”
“So Sarya Dlardrageth’s fey’ri army was imprisoned right in there-” Donnor Kerth nodded at the ruined hillside-“after some ancient elven civil war?”
“Yes, you are right,” the wood elf answered.
“Any idea of what lies buried here? What sort of magic or guardian monsters we might find?”
Gaerradh shook her head. “We never set foot in the deeper halls of the Nameless Dungeon. They were sealed so thoroughly we didn’t even know they existed.”