Had he more time, Araevin would have been content to follow his trail on foot, closing in on the lorestone slowly and methodically. But the presence of the fey'ri army-encamped high in the Rillvale, driven back but not defeated-urged him to move faster. If the telkiira in fact harbored some secret lore that might be turned against the daemonfey, if it truly contained some useful knowledge or weapon, then it was needed in Evereska as soon as he could retrieve it. And if the telkiira quest proved to be a vain hope, then the sooner he followed the trail to its end and returned, the sooner he could lend his arcane strength to the crusade's next battle. So, instead of creeping out of the Shaeradim through one of the secret trails to the north, they spent the morning following the track deeper into the mountains, traversing higher and higher vales that not even the Evereskans visited often, until at last they reached the barren stone plinth of a high, thready waterfall that coursed down from a cliff above them. A moss-grown stone marker stood beside the pool, leaning crookedly to one side.
"Not another one of these," Maresa observed. She dismounted and set her hands on her hips. "It can't be good to tempt Tymora's luck too often. Sooner or later we're not going to go where we think we're going."
"Where does this one lead, Araevin?" Grayth asked.
"If I understand the Evereskan records, it will take us to the Moonwood, somewhat north of Silverymoon."
"Is that where the third loregem lies?"
"Possible, but unlikely." Araevin swung himself down from his own mount, and checked to make sure his saddlebags and gear were secure. "I can feel the telkiira quite a long ways north and west of here, and this is the nearest portal I know of that leads a fair distance to the north. It's my hope that transporting ourselves to the Moonwood will bring us closer to our goal, and save us some travel."
"We might overshoot the mark," Ilsevele said. "The Moonwood might be farther from the goal than we are right here."
"I know, but this seems worth a try. If I feel that the telkiira is farther away once we pass to the other side of the portal, we will simply step back through and proceed from here. It costs us no more time than it took to climb up here if I'm wrong, but if I'm right, we may save days of hard riding."
"So what sort of horrible monsters infest the Moonwood?" Maresa muttered. "Trolls and dragons again? Or something else this time?"
Araevin replied, "The Moonwood doesn't have quite the same reputation as the Trollbark or the Forest of Wyrms. But it's been almost eighty years since I was last in Silverymoon and the lands about, so my information may be out-of-date."
He moved over to the stone marker and studied it, softly tracing the weathered Espruar runes carved into its lichen-covered surface. Evereska's high vales concealed a handful of ancient elfgates leading to elven realms that no longer existed. Araevin cast a spell that let him study the ancient device and perceive its condition, its destination, and the method of its awakening.
"This gate linked Evereska to a northerly outpost of the fallen realm of Sharrven," Araevin said, "on the far side of the River Rauvin. This is the right one. Be ready to move swiftly when the gate opens, for it will not remain open for long."
Dutifully, his traveling companions ringed themselves around the elfgate, and waited for his signal. Araevin straightened, caught the reins of his horse, and led the animal closer. He spoke the ancient words needed to wake the portal, and quickly touched the device. A golden shimmer arose around him, warm and electric, and he was standing somewhere else, an overgrown clearing in a deep forest. He led his horse away from the weathered stone post marking the northern end of the portal, and watched as his companions came through one by one.
Maresa made a show of patting her arms and legs, as if part of her might have been left behind.
"Well, what do you know? I'm all here," she remarked. Ilsevele looked to Araevin and asked, "Are we closer, or not?"
Araevin hesitated only a moment, pausing to make sure of the magical intuition dancing in his mind, then answered, "Yes. The loregem now lies east of us, not close, but not terribly far."
Grayth glanced at the brooding sky.
"More riding, then," the cleric said. "Unless you know of another portal leading in the right direction."
"No elven realms ever stood between the Moonwood and Anauroch. I could try a teleport spell, but we'd have to leave the horses behind. And I would be guessing at where I'm going, which is not wise with such magic." Araevin shook his head and concluded, "We'll have to ride from here."
They mounted their horses again and headed east, riding beneath a cold but thankfully sparse drizzle. Winter might have been fading in the lands of the North, but spring's grip was still frail. Large patches of snow lingered under the tall trees of the forest, and the air was damp and chilly. After an hour's ride, they broke out of the eastern eaves of the Moonwood and rode across more open land, rolling hills crowned with bare, windswept heather, interspersed with thicket-filled vales and swift, cold streams. South of them rose the white peaks of a low but rugged mountain range marching off toward the east.
Early in the afternoon they struck upon a clear track running north and south across their path. Araevin couldn't recall the exact lay of the land, but Grayth prayed for Lathander's guidance and directed the company to follow the track to the north. Toward the end of the day the track crossed a broad, swift river, icy cold but fortunately less than knee-deep at the ford.
"We're lucky," Grayth called to Araevin over the rushing of the water. "If we come back this way in ten or fifteen days, the snowmelt will make this ford impassable!"
"Does any of this look familiar?" Ilsevele asked Araevin.
"I think this might be the Redrun. If we followed it south for quite a ways, we would eventually reach Sundabar."
"This track leads in the wrong direction, then."
"I'm not so sure." Araevin pointed at a stout marker that stood overlooking the ford. "Those are Dethek runes-Dwarvish. I think this track might skirt north of the Rauvin Mountains and head east through the Cold Vale toward Citadel Adbar."
"I think you may be right, Araevin," Maresa said, studying the Dwarvish writing. "I can make out some of this, I think… ah, that's not good."
"What?"
"The trail glyphs warn of orc lands ahead. And someone called Grimlight," said Maresa. "It's going to be a cold and lonely ride. I don't think there's anything between here and Adbar, and that's more than two hundred miles off according to the dwarves' glyphs. No civilization anywhere."
"The dwarves must pass this way," observed Grayth. "They raised a stone here, anyway."
"Yes, but look at the track," Ilsevele said. "Not much traffic at all."
They made another five miles before camping for the night in a small, sheltered hollow. The night was bitterly cold, cold enough that they decided to build a fire in spite of the risk of attracting orc marauders, but the night passed by without event. They pressed on in the morning, and rode as hard as they could reasonably push the horses for the next several days. The track skirted just to the north of the stark, forbidding foothills of the Rauvin Mountains, passing through a desolate land of tumbled boulder-fields covered in moss, boggy green fells, and sudden deep gorges across their path where icy streams plummeted down out of the mountains and carved paths through the hills. It was cold and wet, wreathed in dense fogs at night, empty except for the sound of countless white rills and falls amid the stony hills. Crumbling old dwarven bridges crossed stream after stream, some in such bad repair that Araevin or Grayth were forced to resort to magic to get the company across safely.