The worm's head erupted in a column of flame. Vambran was so close to it that he swore he was being scorched. He turned his face away from the heat.
The worm thrashed madly, jerking Vambran about for a moment, and then suddenly the soldier was free.
And falling again.
He reached out and grabbed at a column on the way down, managed to snare it with his magically enhanced grip. He hung there, breathing hard, as the worm whipped about, crashing into the floor of the building and making the whole chamber shake and groan. Several large chunks of stone fell from above as part of the wall collapsed.
Vambran scrambled to pull himself up onto the top surface of the column, still trying to suck in a full lungful of air. A large block went tumbling past him, slamming into the next column and obliterating it.
Time to get out, the lieutenant decided. He lamented the further destruction of the ancient ruins. He looked to the stone altar, wondering if he still had a chance to open it. I have to try, he decided.
His spider climbing magic was still active, so he scrambled toward the dais as quickly as he could. In the meantime, the worm had recovered from its frantic writhing and was approaching the newcomers. It reared its head back in a familiar way.
"It spits acid!" Vambran shouted, motioning. "Get back!"
Serille nodded and shouted a curt order, and the sea elves tried to retreat back through the doorway.
Not all of them were fast enough.
Vambran turned away as their screams rose in pitch and went silent. He focused his full attention on the box. Make their lives count, he told himself. Get this accursed scepter! He still could see no way to open the box. But Serille said the elves believed the ruler of Naarkolyth had sealed the scepter inside! How?
The lieutenant slapped his forehead, feeling the fool. He focused his arcane energy on the stone, conjuring the magic of opening. There was a heavy click and the top of the box fell away, tumbling to crash into the debris below. Vambran peered over the edge of the huge stone container and looked inside.
A box, crafted of wood and perhaps very fine once, rested canted against one corner. It had broken open and the lid was twisted, one hinge snapped. A cudgel lay there, nestled in a form-fitting depression in the lining of the box. It was made of living things, grapevines and leaves and feathers all wrapped together. The head of the artifact held one of the largest emeralds Vambran had ever seen.
He reached inside, afraid to touch it, terrified it wasn't real, wasn't the right piece of history, would crumble if he disturbed it. He laid a single finger on it, felt its smooth hardness.
The worm loomed into view, its body blotting out all other light in the chamber. Its tentacles darted toward Vambran. The lieutenant grabbed the scepter and lunged away just as the enchanted blade shot past him, slicing into the flesh of the nearest probing appendage. He did not waste time looking back. He clambered across the stone surface of the floor as fast as he could, raced toward the doorway where the rest of his companions awaited him.
"Go!" he shouted. "I'll catch up!"
The elves began to vanish, retreating from the chamber. Arbeenok remained, waiting for Vambran to reach them. Behind him, Vambran could sense the worm moving toward him again, could almost feel the tentacles reaching out, grasping at him.
He scampered faster.
Vambran finally reached the alaghi and together, they departed the great chamber. As they moved, Vambran still climbing the stony surfaces and Arbeenok using a length of kelp rope, Vambran said, "So, please tell me this was the place from your vision."
The alaghi chuckled. "Indeed. It was magnificent once, don't you think?"
A horrific thud on the underside of the stone wall bounced them both. Vambran could only guess what the worm was doing inside.
"What I think is, we'd better hurry."
Out beyond the great hall, the rest of the group was already climbing the canted street, working their way toward the top of the hill. Water was spilling down the slope, runoff from above. Vambran stared at it. "That wasn't happening before," he said.
"The worm's vibrations must have shifted some of the rock," Arbeenok said. "The chamber may be flooding now."
Vambran found himself thinking of the enchanted sword, wondering if it would still defend its home once it was submerged.
The return trip to the cave was uneventful, though Serille seemed pensive for most of the way. When pressed about her mood, she replied, "I lost three today."
Vambran nodded. "I'm sorry," he said. "Who were they?"
Serille looked at him with puzzlement. "Why does it matter to you?"
"I grieve for everyone who falls in battle. It helps me keep the cause of the fight in the forefront of my mind, making sure they never die in vain."
"Ah," the sea elf said. "Then you will be sad to know that Ishuliga was one of the three."
Vambran was surprised at the depth of his own sorrow.
At the cave, the mercenary and the druid gathered their belongings and with a smaller escort, departed for the surface. They were bestowed with the enchanted necklaces as farewell gifts. "For the next time you come to visit me," Serille said with a mischievous look in her eye.
After bidding farewell to Serille and the other sea elves, Vambran and Arbeenok walked up the beach toward the rocks. The last rays of the setting sun were fading in the western sky, and Vambran felt some remorse in parting ways with the elves. But he also felt a keen sense of urgency to return to Reth with the healing power of the scepter.
"Have you figured out what must be done with it?" he asked Arbeenok, who was fondling the object delicately.
"I am becoming attuned to it," the alaghi replied, "but I am also simply enjoying the history of it. Imagine-this was created over fifteen hundred years ago by elves who lived in a forest twice as large as what we know here now. And the landscape wasn't even remotely similar. This might have been uplands, low hills running along a ridge of mountains that no longer exist, for all we know."
Vambran regarded the druid. "You have a knack for seeing things in a grander way than most people. Nature made a good choice in granting you the ability of portents and visions."
When Arbeenok smiled, Vambran thought he could detect a glint in the druid's eye.
"We must hurry, though," the lieutenant said at last, breaking the moment. "People in Reth are dying even as we stand here."
"We will reach her in time," Arbeenok said, understanding Vambran's thoughts without the mercenary needing to voice them. "My slowing magic should still be effective."
"I hope so," Vambran remarked. "The only way we'll reach her in time is to travel into the city the same way we departed. Can you do that?"
Arbeenok nodded and stepped back from his companion in order to have room to transform. He shifted and twisted to become a giant hawk, then the druid lofted himself into the air, reaching out with his talons to grasp Vambran by the shoulders as he had before.
Together, they soared into the sky, gliding their way toward the city and the plague.
It was nightfall by the time they landed in the city street near the villa where they had left Elenthia that morning. As soon as they arrived, Vambran was running into the home, calling to the woman. "Elenthia! Elenthia, we've returned. We found a way to heal you!"
Elenthia was not where Vambran had left her.
Vambran called frantically for a few moments, running from room to room, but the woman was nowhere to be found. He raced back down to the garden, trying to guess what might have happened to her. He jogged through the gate and out into the street, calling to Arbeenok.
The druid was surrounded by mercenaries of the Order of the Silver Raven, many of them holding lanterns aloft. They held crossbows leveled at him.