"Sad news," mused Cynosure. Then, "Lead on. Now that I have renewed contact with Raidon, I'll provide no further distraction until my services are next required."
Grandmother Ash's form dissolved. A few moments later, her voice came from ahead, raised once again in a song of guidance.
The monk continued his trek through the burning miasma, following the temporary, living guideposts the avatar provided.
Some large fraction of a day passed in such manner. The sameness of the surrounding bluish fog made it difficult to estimate time. Finally, Raidon broke through the haze into a new region.
He stood near the opening cut of a mighty canyon, steep-sided and long. The canyon sides revealed hundreds of varicolored bands in the stone, as if an account of some vast track of time. The sedimentary layers alternated between dozens of shades of brown, though a few layers seemed more crystalline than rocky. One exposed layer looked suspiciously like flesh. The canyon walls rose hundreds of feet on both sides.
The avatar retained her position at the very edge of the haze, declining to fully step forth. She pointed down the canyon. "Continue down this ravine, bearing neither right nor left down lesser clefts, and you'll find the Chalk Destrier at its end."
"You will go no farther?" asked Raidon. He was surprised to find himself wistful at the prospect of losing his one companion who was more than a mere voice.
"I told you my roots extended below all the Plague-wrought Land. That is true, save for this mass in the Plague-wrought Land's heart. I sense it is a misplaced fragment of another world, though its natures obviously affected just as thoroughly by the Spellplague as Toril. I am not able to send my roots farther than its edges."
Raidon wondered if he should remind the avatar of her promise to distract the destrier long enough for him to find the sword. He decided against it. If she was having second thoughts, well, his words wouldn't sway her.
"Thank you for guiding me as far as you have, Grandmother Ash."
The woman gave a fair imitation of a bow. "As I said, you are my first hero. Perhaps, if the Chalk Destrier does not slay you, you will return and tell me of your exploits and what drives you with such determination."
"I look forward to it," responded Raidon, returning the gesture.
With a rustle of shifting earth, the avatar's many branches, vines, and stems blurred out of a female shape, and then pulled into the earth.
"Cynosure?"
"I am here, Raidon."
The monk frowned, nodded, and strode into the ravine. The walls leaped up on both sides, but the way widened so that he walked along a flat expanse a hundred yards from either wall. A track meandered back and forth along the floor of the canyon. Murky liquid sluggishly flowed through the track. It might have been muddy water, though Raidon half expected it to burst into blue burning fire at any moment. The canyon seemed far too mundane to lie at the heart of the Plague-wrought Land.
The farther he walked, the higher the cliff walls grew on each side. Soon he was walking in deep shadow, and he had to carefully watch his footing amid the muddy track. He wondered how high the walls must be. They towered into the gloom, each cliff like a mighty sea wall built by giants.
Now and then, dry tributaries split from the main canyon, but Raidon followed the avatar's advice and continued straight along the way.
At one such juncture, a trio of great beasts grazed, as large as dragons but slightly less fierce in demeanor. They went on four feet and sported long, serpentine necks, but their eyes were dull like cattle, and they had no wings. Raidon slipped past the great creatures without drawing attention. The monk privately thanked providence that Cynosure hadn't taken it upon itself to make some observation, although perhaps he was being unfair to the sentient effigy.
The canyon found its conclusion ahead. A great white cliff filled the vast cleft from wall to wall. Was it snow? It didn't shine and twinkle in the setting sun like snow or ice would. Limestone? No, of course not.
It was probably chalk.
Raidon continued forward.
He walked another couple of miles toward the white wall, during which time full darkness grew. Stars came out above, brighter and more colorful than Raidon had ever noticed. He wasn't a sage of the skies, however, and didn't know enough to hazard a guess on whether they were familiar constellations, here in the heart of the Plague-wrought Land. He didn't ask Cynosure.
One other light source offered itself besides the stars. As twilight deepened, the great white cliff ahead glimmered, taking on a glow not unlike moonlight. As its glow brightened, indeed it seemed that the far cliff face was a full phase of Selune herself, brought to earth and captured between the two canyon walls. Or perhaps not captured, but merely resting, waiting to spring up once more into the heavens.
Finally, Raidon asked the air, "Is that the Chalk Destrier? A moon fallen to earth?"
"If a moon, not one native to Toril."
"How close should I approach?"
"My senses are blunted here. I can barely retain my connection with you. Something interferes."
The monk nodded. He was on his own, despite the constructs voice and predilection to instruct Raidon. He found he was happy to find the constructs limits. On the whole, he'd had enough of all-knowing entities who surpassed his own knowledge. Then again, it could well be he was about to face something more potent than Cynosure at his most powerful.
Raidon walked until he stood some hundred or so paces from the pocked cliff face that glowed with its own celestial light. He put his hands to each side of his mouth and yelled, "Hail! I am seeking the Chalk Destrier! Let us parley and find mutual benefit in so doing!"
The stars above seemed to darken as the great white cliff face slowly waxed, becoming brighter, then brighter still, until Raidon was forced to squint into the glare.
A sound as of a massive river rushing over stones resounded down the canyon, so loud the earth shook. Within that overwhelming noise, Raidon detected patterns. Words. He missed the first few, but finally understood,"… come to ask a question, I demand a gift. What gift do you offer, pilgrim?"
Raidon cocked his head, unsure. He asked, "Are you the Chalk Destrier?"
"What else?" came the breathtaking voice. "If you have come to ask a question, you must first provide your gift. Do you offer your life or the life of another in payment? A relic? A secret?"
He wasn't here to tap whatever oracular power the entity implied it possessed, but he did have a question about Kiril, and her sword. He said, "I do not seek hidden knowledge, sage advice, or visions of the future. I seek only to know the whereabouts of one of your previous visitors, a swordswoman named Kiril and her dwarf companion."
"What gift do you pledge to secure my aid?" replied the earthshaking voice.
The monk stopped short of indicating he had no gift. Instead, he began to run through his store of lore, trying to think of something interesting that might satisfy the inanimate cliffs desire.
Cynosure suddenly said, "I know several secrets. Here is one: The elf realm of Sildeyuir, hidden behind the forest of Yuirwood, is not destroyed, as most assume. Many parts of it were pulled into Faerie, called the Feywild. Many star elves are now reunited with their kin, the eladrin."
The monk started, recalling his earlier conversation with the construct about Sildeyuir. Cynosure had then implied the starry realm was "fallen," not partially transferred to a fey dimension. If it was true that some of that realm yet lived, why had the construct allowed the monk to think otherwise?