"What god is that?" asked Ardeth. "Bane or Cyric? You are a traitor to every god you've served."
Leng scowled. Apparently, he had no idea that anyone knew of his conflicted loyalties.
"I think," he spat, "if it means the end of the Unicorn Run, the two will find a common ground, and all the other gods of darkness besides. I will enjoy all their favor, and I shall have my victory."
Leng spoke with mad credibility, and the Antiquarians did not know what to make of his claims. Could this be possible? What was certain was that Leng was a terrifying enemy. In some ways, Vonelh was the strongest of their group, and Leng had killed him with a simple touch. Already lacking one member, they could not afford to lose any more, or it might prove impossible to escape the High Forest alive. Perhaps it was best to do as Leng ordered.
Royce locked eyes with Ardeth, trying to communicate his confusion.
Nithinial's paralysis ended abruptly. Still trembling with rage and clutching his dagger, he prepared to lunge at Leng again. Wildly, the half-elf squeezed his dagger's hilt until his hand bled, waiting for the word.
It came from Ardeth. "We should move on before the surviving pixies return."
"Where are we heading?" asked Leng, folding his arms across his chest.
Ardeth lowered her head in a false gesture of deference. "The Unicorn Run, of course."
Leng ripped off his brown robes and let them fall among the dead fey. Beneath were the purple and silver robes of a high priest of Cyric. He wore them proudly as he led his reluctant troops toward death or glory.
* * * * *
A great white goose ascended out of the High Forest, the trees swaying beneath her. Lanaal, transformed, carried Vell and Kellin on her back, each of them gripping feathers to stay in place. Above the tree canopy, the immensity of the High Forest sprawled below them. Their destination, the squat green mounts called the Lost Peaks, was a familiar visage from some vantages north of the forest's edge. Vell found his attention turning south to another group of mountains, a range he'd never laid eyes on before. Immense and towering, they were an arresting sight even to one raised in the shadows of mountains.
"What are those?" Vell asked Kellin. He could not take his eyes off them.
"The Star Mounts," Kellin told him. They looked out of place somehow—mountains in the most unexpected of places—as if some god had dropped them there on an odd whim.
"That's where it is," Vell said.
"Where what is?" asked Kellin.
"The place we're bound for." He didn't understand the words even as they came out of his mouth.
"How do you know?"
Vell looked deeper, harder at the mountains, staring into them. "I just know," he said.
Soon they alighted on a grassy plateau in the Lost Peaks, at the foot of a rocky peak that revealed a series of caves. The plateau was high and the air crisp. A fresh breeze was blowing. Dozens of pools with pristinely clear water dotted the plateau, undisturbed by any breeze. Lanaal flapped her great wings, and as she folded them, she transformed into the familiar shape of an elf. The trio could see more pools just inside the caves, illuminated from within by some sourceless light. These were the Fountains of Memory.
"So?" asked Vell, walking over to one of the pools. "What do we do?"
"Hala Spiritwalk said not to do anything until a korred guide arrives," Lanaal explained. "Most especially..." she reached over and grabbed Vell around the middle, dragging him away from the pool, "she said not to look into the pools till he gets here."
"Aye, good advice that is," came a voice. Vell, Kellin, and Lanaal all turned to find a little man standing directly in their midst, the top of his head barely reaching their chests. How he had arrived, none of them could say, though as soon as he appeared, a strong animal stench filled the air. His chest was covered with brown curly hair, and he walked on goat's legs with cloven hooves in place of feet. A small bag dangled at his waist, and a brown loincloth scarcely concealed his crotch.
"Welcome, friends," he said. He danced a circle around them, kicking and twisting those ungainly legs with strange grace. His dancing seemed as natural as walking. "My name is Tylvis, First Terpsichorean of the Clovenclan." He gave a little bow and stopped before Vell.
Looking to the others for confirmation, Vell bent his knees slightly and extended a hand, which the korred grasped in his hairy palm.
"Thank you for letting us come. I am Vell of the Thunderbeasts. This is Kellin Lyme of Candlekeep, and Lanaal Featherbreeze, late of Evereska."
"Lovely ladies both. Human and elf, one of yellow hair and one of dark." He winked at Vell. "The best of all worlds. Welcome to the Fountains of Memory!" Tylvis declared with a robust smile. "Many come seeking this sacred spot, and we don't usually mind. They come seeking knowledge, for this place remembers everything that happens in this world of ours. Mostly we let them slip by and stay unseen. No idea whether they find what they're after."
"What are they?" said Kellin, looking into one of the pools. It did not reflect the blue sky above, and when she craned her head out over it she could not see herself. The pool showed only an impassive, shimmering blueness. "How did they come to be?"
"Nobody knows for sure," Tylvis said. "We think our god Tapann made them, but he's not telling. They show images of other times and places. There's no predicting what they'll reveal. Sometimes the past, sometimes the present. But be wary—we've seen weak-minded humans, and even one or two elves, decide to jump into the pools. They never come out. Maybe they're swept away to the place they see, but we sure never see them again."
"Maybe they die," said Vell. "Drown."
"Could well be," said Tylvis. "I'll feel bad if you decide to take an unplanned swim. Otherwise, look! See what they have to say. Maybe nothing, maybe something. But look. Look and see."
"Those pools in the caves?" asked Vell. "Are they different from the ones on the plateau?"
"Hmm." Tylvis stroked his bearded chin and made an odd little hop on his goat legs. "Don't know, 'cept that of all those who vanished into the waters never to be seen again, the bulk vanished in there."
"That's where the most intense visions occur?" asked Lanaal.
"You could say that," said Tylvis. "Myself, I don't know."
"What do you see when you look in the pools?" asked Kellin.
"Oh, I never look in them," said Tylvis. "Nothing in there I need to know. The past, the present... what do such things matter to the Dancing Folk?" His smile was mysterious, unreadable—did Tylvis speak the truth, or some merry joke only he understood? "But you three go ahead. Make sure you stay on this side of the pool."
"That's all you have to say?" asked Lanaal.
Tylvis smiled a trickster's smile. "What more would you have me say, elf? So many have come here seeking wisdom—I don't know if they get it or not. So good luck. Hope you don't see anything you'd rather not have known." With that, the korred turned and hopped away down the plateau.
"Do we trust the goat man?" asked Vell. "If this place is sacred to his god, then why leave it so accessible—and why doesn't he treat it with more reverence?"
"Korreds are an irreverent kind," said Kellin. "Not all religions regard their sacred places in the way the Uthgardt do."
"Better yet" Lanaal added, "it may be that this place isn't sacred to Tapann at all. Rumor has it that his followers keep their own sacred fountains secret, and encourage all others, even their allies, to believe that these are the sacred ones."
"I wonder what they are then." Kellin found a pebble at her feet and cast it into the nearest pool. The stone sank, but not a ripple disturbed the pristine surface. "More clear than any mirror."