At noon of the fifth day since leaving Evereska, they reached another old bridge spanning a narrow gorge less than fifty feet wide, but twice that in depth. A nameless mountain stream rushed by below, plunging from rock to rock as it descended. The bridge was sound enough to cross, but in the middle of the span Araevin halted and looked downstream.
"Here," he said. "This is the gorge, I'm sure of it. We need to follow it downstream from here"
Ilsevele studied the landscape and said, "It will be impossible for the horses."
"Well leave them, along with all the gear we don't need in a fight. I'll hide the animals and our cache with a spell."
They led their mounts back a few hundred yards to the empty shell of an old, long-abandoned wayhouse along the road, and left the horses in the moss-grown ruin, concealed by an illusion Araevin wove to make the whole place seem like one more tumbled boulder den to anyone passing by.
The company returned to the bridge and with great care picked their way down the slippery walls of the gorge to the stream at the bottom. The stream snaked back and forth between huge boulders and steep shoulders of rock and filled the gully with cold spray and roaring water. But by leaping from stone to stone or scrambling over tumbled rock falls they were able to pick their way downward. Fortunately, it seemed that spring was just slow enough in coming that the bottom of the gorge was still passable. Araevin could easily see that a few days of heavy rain or snowmelt would have filled the channel from side to side.
The gorge turned to the east in a sharp bend that took quite a scramble to negotiate-and they saw the cave mouth. Beneath an overhanging shelf of rock, about fifteen feet above the stream below, a great dark tunnel gaped in the moss-covered wall of the gorge. Araevin halted, riveted by the sight of the place that had hovered in his mind since finding the second stone. It was not quite exactly as he had seen it. The stream was higher, some of the boulders seemed to have shifted or moved, and the vagaries of light and weather were not the same. But he could feel the closeness of the third stone. And as he looked closer, he realized that some of the smaller boulders and water-soaked branches clustered below the cave mouth were not rock and wood, but crushed and splintered bones.
"That's it," he replied in answer to the question he had not yet been asked. "It's in there."
Grayth doffed his helm and mopped his brow with the sleeve of the loose surcoat he wore over his plate armor. "Good, I was getting tired. Can't say I like the looks of it, though. That's a monster's lair if I've ever seen one."
"What do you think it might be?" Maresa asked.
"Maybe it's the lair of Grimlight, whoever or whatever that is," Ilsevele offered.
Grayth replaced his helm, looked up to Araevin, and asked, "So what's the plan?"
"Rest a few minutes, then ready ourselves with spells and go in," Araevin said.
He looked around at the gorge. He could feel the menace of the place, and wished he had Whyllwyst with him to keep an eye on their line of retreat once they entered the cave. He didn't like the idea of not knowing if anyone else might be coming up behind them.
"I suppose we'll have to find out the hard way who lives here," Araevin said, "and whether or not they're willing to part with the lorestone."
It took Methrammar Aerasum6 almost ten days to gather a force from the cities of the League. Most of the confederation's soldiers were scattered all over the Silver Marches in small detachments and companies, doing their best to check the depredations of raiding giants and marauding orcs. The High Marshal stripped whole companies from other tasks and sent them up the Rauvin by barge, gathering them in Everlund's Great Armory, the walled barracks compound overlooking the busy riverfront of the city. His agents scoured the city's markets and caravan yards, buying up every pack animal in sight as they amassed a tremendous store of food and supplies for the march.
Gaerradh was impressed by the martial array Methrammar assembled, even though she was more anxious with each day that passed. Two hundred of Silverymoon's famous Knights in Silver rode at the head of the column- human, elf, and half-elf soldiers strengthened by a dozen mages of the city's famous Spellguard. Four hundred sturdy dwarf warriors-Iron Guards from Citadel Adbar, and a small company from Citadel Felbarr-tromped along behind the riders, openly discontented with the notion of marching off into the trackless woodlands to fight in the service of wood elves who weren't even members of Alustriel's league. Several small companies from smaller towns such as Auvandell and Jalanthar followed, including a handful of human huntsmen and trackers almost as comfortable in the forest as Gaerradh herself. And finally, Methrammar had prevailed upon the First Elder of Everlund to lend him three seasoned companies of the Army of the Vale. All told, Methrammar's expedition numbered well over a thousand soldiers.
After assembling his force, Methrammar did not lead his army straight south into the wood, as Gaerradh would have expected.
"If your folk are retreating to the Lost Peaks, then that is where we should march to," he explained. "The forest is a road to elves, but this army we have gathered will not make good speed on elven trails."
Instead, they marched southwest along the trade road known as the Evermoor Way, skirting the western edge of the forest for fifty miles before turning south into the forest on the fifth day of their march. From there, Gaerradh led them along the remnants of the elven highways that had once crisscrossed the High Forest in the days of Sharrven and Siluvanede.
On the sixth day out of Everlund, soon after Methrammar's army entered the forest, the daemonfey struck.
Gaerradh was with Methrammar, riding with the Knights in Silver at the head of the column. Behind them the other companies were scattered over close to a mile of trail, threading their way among the rugged, dense forest of the hills that climbed ever southward to the hidden slopes of the Lost Peaks. Suddenly, from the dark hillside above the trail, a barrage of magical fireballs whistled down into the marching column.
"Ambush!" Methrammar cried. "To arms! To arms!"
The fireballs exploded a bowshot behind the lead company, huge orange gouts of flame blossoming in the gloomy, dripping forest. The heat of the magical fire was so fierce that Gaerradh could feel the flames from where she stood. Before the flames fully vanished, brilliant bolts of lightning stabbed down from the hillside above the track, splintering trees with tremendous cracks! and booms! that left Gaerradh's ears ringing. Everlundan soldiers staggered and screamed, burned or maimed by the deadly magic.
Methrammar wheeled his horse about, his handsome face hard and flat with anger.
"Damn! Where did they come from?" he hissed. Then he shouted at the Silvaeren knight who commanded the vanguard, "Take defensive positions and spread out! They're going to try to swarm the vanguard while the rest of the column is cut off by the spellcasters!"
I should have been scouting the trail instead of riding with Methrammar, Gaerradh thought angrily. No fey'ri sorcerers would have ambushed Sheeril and I!
Few others came close to matching her woodcraft, but Methrammar had asked her to stay close by him, pointing out that her knowledge of the trails and landmarks of the forest was irreplaceable. In truth, she had not minded the opportunity to keep the company of the handsome commander. She cursed her own foolishness and swept the woods nearby with her keen eyes, looking for the next step of the ambush.
Dark, swift forms dropped down from wooded hillside above the trail with bared steel in their filthy talons.
"Here they come!" she cried. "Watch upslope!"
Gaerradh slipped off her own mount and unslung her bow. She had no skill in fighting on horseback, and she suspected that anyone on a horse would be singled out by enemy archers and wizards.