“A couple tribes of orcs are gathering in the right passage,” she said, deliberately leaving out the mention of the “ugly wizard”—one of the scarred mages they’d heard about? Knowing Corran, he would want to confront the spellcaster immediately. “I vote we go to the left.”
The others concurred. They headed down the left corridor, passing several solidly built wooden doors inscribed with glyphs—all of them different, none of them recognizable to anyone in the party. Kestrel tried to pick the locks of the first two doors, but discovered them magically, not mechanically, sealed.
“They must require those other Words of Opening the clerics talked about,” Durwyn said.
“You think?” Kestrel retorted. Leave it to Durwyn to state the obvious.
Several hundred yards farther, they came upon a doorway that glittered in the torchlight as they approached, as if it held a door of glass. When they reached it, they discovered the surface thick with frost and crystals.
Ghleanna extended her hand to touch the surface. “It’s ice. A solid sheet of ice.”
“Strange,” Kestrel said. “I wonder what’s inside?”
Durwyn hefted his axe. “Let’s find out.” Before Kestrel could stop him, he swung the axe so hard it created an ear-splitting crash that echoed throughout the passageway. A huge web of cracks spread across the ice from the center of his strike. A second blow sent large chunks of ice flying into the room beyond.
Kestrel grabbed his arm before he could swing again. She fought to keep her voice muted. “What in the Abyss are you doing?” she hissed. “Every orc in this dungeon will hear you!”
Confusion spread across Durwyn’s features. “I thought you wanted to—”
“He might as well finish now,” Corran said. “One more blow, and we’ll be able to get through.”
Durwyn looked to Kestrel as if for permission. Corran was right—if breaking through was going to attract attention from the orcs, the alarm had already sounded. She supposed it was even possible that they were far enough away that the orcs wouldn’t be able to determine the origin of the noise. Besides, for all they knew, the path to the House of Gems might lie beyond this frozen doorway. She shrugged her reluctant assent.
The warrior struck a third time, shattering enough of the door to create a man-sized hole. They kicked aside hunks and shards of ice, then grabbed a torch from one of the wall sconces. Corran thrust it through the opening and peered in.
“It’s a small room,” he said. “Maybe ten or twelve feet square. Looks like there’s no one inside.” He crawled through, followed by the others.
Once inside, Kestrel shivered with cold. In the center of the room—taking up most of the room, in fact—was a large circular rune inscribed on the stone floor. Its intricate knot-work pattern was outlined in white frost. In the center, about waist-high, floated a golden sphere encrusted with icicles.
She crossed to the levitating sphere, withdrew one of her daggers, and prodded it. The sphere did not move. She tapped harder, but her effort yielded only the clank of steel against ice. Finally, she put the dagger away and pushed against the sphere with all her strength. It felt as icy as it looked, but it would not budge.
“Let me help,” Durwyn offered. The big warrior threw all of his weight against the floating object, but it remained just as firmly in place.
“I give up,” Kestrel said. She glanced at their other companions. Ghleanna knelt at the edge of the rune, closely examining it. Corran stood facing one of the walls, his back to the group.
“Ghleanna, what do you suppose this is?” the paladin asked.
The mage approached, as did Kestrel and Durwyn. The wall held an engraved formation of four diamond shapes arranged in a column, with a vertical line bisecting them. A ruby was embedded in the lowest point of the bottom diamond.
“I’ve never seen its like before,” Ghleanna said.
Corran traced the edge of the ruby with his index finger. “I tried removing the gem, but it’s wedged in there pretty tight.”
“Not exactly your area of expertise, I imagine,” said Kestrel. “Let me try.” She removed a pointed metal file from one of her belt pouches and tried to insert it between the gem and the wall to pry out the ruby. Despite her best efforts, the stone remained firmly in place—now surrounded by scratch marks.
“Apparently not your area of expertise either,” Corran remarked.
She shot him a dirty look. The failure of her thieving skills bothered her enough—she didn’t need Sir Self-Righteous rubbing it in. “It must be magically frozen in place, like everything else in this room,” she said stiffly. “Otherwise I would have had no problem removing it.”
Ghleanna offered to use sorcery in hopes of learning more about the room, but all agreed her spells were better saved for whatever lay ahead than to merely satisfy curiosity. “I’m sure this room isn’t the only mysterious thing we’ll encounter in Myth Drannor,” Corran said.
Kestrel hoped the others proved this benign.
After a while, the party entered an area of the dungeons that appeared less frequented by the orcs. Fewer torches lined these walls, and many of them had sputtered out or been extinguished. The light became dim enough that Corran removed one of the unlit torches from its sconce, lighted it off the next burning torch they came upon, and carried it with them. Soon, the passageway’s illumination grew so bad that the others followed suit.
As they neared a chamber with an open doorway, a sudden voice from within startled them. “Light? Oh—whoever you are, I beseech you! Please bring your light this way!”
They exchanged glances, knowing that their torches would reveal them to the speaker well before they could see him.
“A trap?” Kestrel mouthed.
“I don’t think so,” Corran responded softly. “If he means to ambush us, why alert us to his presence?” More loudly, he called out, “We’re on our way.”
Corran entered the chamber first. “Oh!”
“What?” Kestrel darted in after him. “Oh!” she echoed. “Well, I’ll be damned...”
In the corner of the room stood a man—or at least, half a man. He looked ordinary enough from the torso up, with a medium build, long brown hair, and penetrating dark eyes. From the waist down, the unfortunate fellow was embedded in an enormous boulder. His body appeared to simply end, consumed by the rock.
Behind her, Kestrel heard Durwyn and Ghleanna enter. The warrior gasped. “What happened to you?”
“If you can believe it, a lovers’ quarrel,” the man responded. “I was exploring these dungeons with my fiancée, a fellow sorcerer, when we fell into an argument. The subject was so trivial that I can’t even remember what the fight was about, but in the heat of the moment I renounced my love for Ozama. She flew into a rage and cast a spell that sealed me in this boulder until I solved a riddle:
Kestrel nearly snorted. “That old thing? Your sweetheart changed the ending, but the first half of it must have circulated through half the taverns between here and Waterdeep last year.”
“And all the courts the year before,” Corran added.
The man’s face lit up, his eyes darting from one party member to the next. “Do you really know the answer?”
“A ring,” Durwyn said.
Kestrel crossed the room and tapped her silver ring against the rock. A mighty crack! rent the air as the boulder broke into pieces. The long-trapped wizard immediately fell to his knees, his legs unused to supporting his weight.