by Monte Cook
The tower was invisible as well, at least from the outside. Once within, Mari found herself surrounded by comfortable, solid stone walls. The three passed through an arch and into a circular chamber with a domed ceiling. Instantly, Mari was dazzled by a shimmering spectrum of ruby, emerald, sapphire, and diamond-white light.
“Welcome, Cormik,” a husky voice said. “This is a surprise. And I see you’ve brought friends. Well, don’t just stand there. Come in.”
After several moments, Mari’s eyes adjusted to the dazzling illumination. The chamber’s walls were encrusted with precious stones, and the gems refracted the light of countless candles. The effect was breathtaking. In the middle of the chamber, on a chaise of crimson velvet, reclined the figure of an incredibly beautiful woman. Her short hair was like a wave of polished onyx, her skin as lustrous as burnished amber, her eyes as bright as violet sapphires.
“Hello, Jewel,” Cormik said, his bow surprisingly graceful for a man of his girth.
“Greetings, my dear, doddering coot,” she replied sharply.
“Ah, my sweet, hideous hag—I see you’re still grating on the nerves.”
Mari frowned at this curious exchange. Cormik had called the woman “Jewel.” The name seemed vaguely familiar, but Mari couldn’t remember where she had heard it. Certainly she had never seen the exotic woman before. At first she had thought Jewel to be about her own age, but now she wasn’t so certain. There was something strangely old about Jewel’s sharp violet eyes and smoky voice.
“Now, let me see,” Jewel mused, turning her attention to Cormik’s companions. “This must be the Harper Mari Al’maren and the mage Morhion Gen’dahar. Cormik has told me much about you. But don’t worry yourselves, loves, for I seldom believe anything Cormik tells me.” She smiled warmly, and Mari returned the expression despite herself. She found she liked this mysterious woman.
Jewel bade her guests sit on crushed velvet lounges. Servants clad in black leather jerkins and black silk masks appeared with glasses of ruby-colored wine. Each of them wore a long knife at the hip. Mari drained her glass quickly in an effort to settle her nerves.
“I’m so glad you brought your friends, Cormik,” Jewel said in her throaty voice. “It is good to finally meet some of those who journeyed with my grandson.”
Mari blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry,” she sputtered. “I didn’t realize I knew any of your kin.”
Cormik set down his glass with a frown. “Haven’t you been paying attention, Mari? Of course you knew her grandson. This is Jewel Talondim, Ferret’s grandmother.”
This was too much for Mari to absorb. “Ferret’s grandmother?” she said incredulously. “But she’s so … young. Ferret was a good ten years older than me, and Jewel can’t be a day over—”
“Ninety-three,” Jewel interrupted with a laugh. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking, but I can assure you there’s no magic involved. Just good blood. The women of the Talondim clan have always aged gracefully.”
“I believe that qualifies as an understatement,” Morhion commented matter-of-factly. Jewel gave him a solemn nod.
Mari had learned a little about Jewel from her grandson, Ferret. The Talondim clan were independent thieves, not allied with any guild. Normally, such free-lancers were eradicated by the fiercely territorial thieves’ guilds, but the Talondim family was unusually powerful—due in no small part to the strong hand and keen mind of the clan’s matriarch. As a result, instead of attacking the Talondim family, the thieving guilds of Iriaebor more often sought to forge alliances with Jewel. Thus the Talondim family prospered.
Mari was suddenly filled with sadness at the memories of Ferret. “Your grandson was a good thief, Jewel,” she said quietly. “I can’t tell you how much he helped us when we were fighting Ravendas. But more than that, he was a good man. I miss him.”
Jewel reached out and gave Mari’s hand a squeeze. “I know, love. We all do.” She sighed wistfully. “For the longest time I was furious with the Harpers and the Fellowship of the Dreaming Dragon, for taking Ferret away from me. But now that we’ve met at last, I can see why he risked everything to help you.”
Mari wanted to say how sorry she was, but the words would not come, so she settled for gripping Jewel’s hand fiercely. Jewel laughed and caught Mari in a maternal embrace. “There’s no need to cry, Mari. Don’t you see? We’ve already become friends.”
Despite a flood of tears, Mari couldn’t help laughing, for it was true.
It was Cormik who politely reminded them all why they had come to Jewel’s invisible tower, and they got down to business. It took some time to recount all they knew concerning Caledan’s transformation, yet Mari was amazed that Jewel absorbed it so quickly and with such aplomb.
“I have heard of this Stiletto,” Jewel confessed when Mari finally finished. “But I’m afraid I know very little about him.”
“Very little would be more than I know at the moment,” Cormik replied gruffly.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me in your case, Cormik?” Jewel asked smartly. “As far as my sources have been able to determine, Stiletto is a new underworld power in the Western Heartlands. He—or she, for no one really knows—appeared about two years ago, and since then has quickly risen to power in the world of thievery. Each day, more and more underworld operations fall under Stiletto’s control. Every thieves’ guild west of the Sunset Mountains has felt Stiletto’s bite, and I’m afraid the Talondim clan is no different. We’re all losing obscene amounts of money, so you can imagine that the location of Stiletto’s base of operations is something every guild-master and crime lord in the Western Heartlands would give his pickpocketing hand to know. Despite all our efforts, Stiletto has managed to keep his lair—and his identity—a secret.”
Mari chewed her lip in thought. “Well, at least now we know that Stiletto is somewhere in the Western Heartlands. That narrows it down a bit.”
“Oh, indeed,” Cormik replied drolly. “Now we have only a quarter of a continent to search rather than the whole thing.”
Mari scowled at him. “I was just trying to look on the bright side.”
“I think you’ll have to look harder,” Morhion advised gloomily. “I fear we have little chance of finding Stiletto before Caledan does. I have no doubt that the Shadowstar beckons Caledan. It may take time, but eventually its call will lead him to Stiletto.”
Jewel gave the mage an appraising look. “At the risk of uttering the obvious, why don’t you just let Caledan do the work for you?” Mari, Morhion, and Cormik stared at her, uncomprehending. “Think of it, loves. If Caledan is going to try to get the Shadowstar from this Stiletto, then why don’t you simply follow Caledan for now, and ask questions about Stiletto along the way? You might get lucky and learn where Stiletto is in time to beat Caledan there. And if not, at least you won’t be far behind.”
New hope flooded Mari’s chest. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a plan. “Jewel, you’re brilliant!”
The matriarch of the Talondim clan shrugged modestly. “It’s a gift.”
Eight
The gateway was ready. Morhion stepped back and regarded the stone arch.
With red ochre, for power, he had outlined the runes carved into the rock. In front of the arch he had laid down a pathway of willow branches to symbolize travel. At present, the archway opened onto only a wall of rough-hewn stone. But when he spoke the word of opening …
The gateway stood in a chamber beneath Morhion’s tower. It had been placed here by the powerful mage who had first raised the spire, three centuries ago. Yet the gateway was an artifact whose age was better measured in eons. It had taken Morhion long years of study to unlock the gateway’s secrets. Even now, he was not certain that he truly understood the arch’s ancient, alien magic.
“You risk great peril by using the gateway, Morhion,” a sepulchral voice spoke behind him.
Morhion spun around, breathing in air suddenly turned chill. The hateful word escaped his lips with a hiss. “Serafi.”
The spectral knight drifted closer, bringing with him the scent of dry dust and rot. His eyes glowed like drops of molten iron, smoldering with contempt—and desire. “It is folly for you to use the gateway, mage. Its magic is far more vast than your puny, mortal mind could possibly imagine.”
Forcibly, Morhion willed away the fear and loathing that clouded his mind. “I cannot imagine that you care,” he said flatly.
“Oh, but I do care.” Serafi’s hollow voice oozed mock sympathy. “Have you forgotten our bargain already, Morhion? How like a mortal!” The ghostly knight floated closer still. “Allow me to remind you, then. Your body belongs to me now. I am concerned what happens to it. I want to be certain it comes to me in the same excellent condition in which it stands now.”
Morhion felt his head being tilted back. He resisted, the cords of his neck standing out with the strain, but it was no use. Icy, invisible hands tangled through his long golden hair, then moved to stroke the warm flesh of his throat. Suddenly the bodiless fingers tightened. Morhion choked, unable to breathe. His hands scrabbled at his neck, but they found no purchase against the incorporeal grip that strangled him. A roaring noise filled his ears. Everything grew dim …
“No, not yet,” Serafi whispered.
The freezing hands released Morhion’s throat. He staggered backward, drawing in shuddering breaths while brilliant sparks of light exploded before his eyes.
Serafi’s voice reverberated with menace. “Do not think that you can escape your vow through death, Morhion. Your body is my property, and I will be watching over it.”
Morhion wanted to shout, to hurl some curse at the spectral knight, but Serafi melted into the air and was gone.
Mari arrived a short while later. She stepped through the tower’s door along with a flood of late afternoon sunlight. It was time to begin their search for Caledan and the Shadowstar.
When she saw Morhion, concern lit Mari’s eyes. “Are you all right, Morhion? Your neck … it’s been bruised.”
Hastily, Morhion turned up the collar of his purple vest, concealing the livid marks. “It is of no importance,” he said, more sharply than he intended. But she had caught him off guard.
Mari looked unconvinced, but when she opened her mouth to ask another question, a slight figure stepped from behind her.
“Hello, Morhion.”
Mari looked surprised, but amusement flickered across Morhion’s usually impassive visage. This was unexpected … or had it been prearranged?
“Hello, Kellen,” the mage said.
“Kellen, what are you doing here?” Mari asked sternly. “You should be back at the inn with Estah.”
Though the halfling healer had wanted to join the search for Caledan, Morhion and Mari had convinced her that someone needed to stay at the Dreaming Dragon in case Caledan returned. Reluctantly, Estah had agreed to remain behind, though she was not pleased about it.
“It’s all right,” Kellen said gravely. “I left her a note so she wouldn’t wonder where I went.”
Morhion gave the boy a speculative look. “And just where is it that you are going, Kellen?”
“With you, of course. You’re going to need someone with the shadow magic on your journey.”
Morhion glanced at Mari. “The boy is right, you know.”
“I don’t care if he’s right,” Mari countered crossly. “Right has absolutely nothing to do with it. He’s only eleven years old, and he’s not coming with us.”
Morhion made a decision. “Listen to me, Mari,” he urged quietly. “You know as well as I do that Caledan’s power over shadows has become chaotic and dangerous. We may have to face shadow creatures like those in the Zhentarim lair. And if we do, we may indeed need Kellen’s shadow magic.”
Mari wasn’t budging. “I packed supplies for only the two of us. And we don’t have a horse for him.”
“I’m small,” Kellen offered. “I could ride with you or Morhion. And I don’t eat much.”
Mari let out a resigned sigh. She knelt and gripped Kellen’s shoulders. “All right, Kellen. This is going to be a hard journey, and a dangerous one. Once we’ve left, there can be no complaining or begging to turn back. And you must do everything that I or Morhion ask you to do, quickly and without question. Do you promise?”
He nodded earnestly. “I promise, Mari.”
She studied him for a moment, then smiled in spite of herself. “All right, then. Let’s get going.”
“Wait a minute!” a huffing voice shouted. “Not so fast!”
What now? Morhion wondered. He and Mari looked up in surprise to see a rotund figure stumble through the doorway before collapsing to the floor, wheezing. A willowy form stepped lithely over the prostrate bulk.
“I didn’t know you could actually run, Cormik,” Jewel said in sincere amazement. “Did you burst something, you silly goat?”
“I’m quite fine—no thanks to you, old witch,” he grumbled, hauling himself to his feet. He wore a voluminous pearl-gray traveling cloak over his usual opulent finery.
Mari thrust her hands against her hips. “What now?”
Cormik pointed a chubby, accusing finger at Jewel. “This crafty wench thought she would tag along with you on your quest, in hopes of learning the location of Stiletto’s hideout.” He glowered darkly at the matriarch of the Talondim clan. “Information she could then sell to other thieves for a profit.”
Jewel let out a trilling laugh. She had clad her lean form in supple riding leathers dyed the same dusky violet color as her eyes. “You’re angry only because I thought of the idea first.”
“Actually, I thought of it first,” Cormik grumbled. “You just run faster.”
“Enough!” Mari shouted, holding up her hands. “It doesn’t matter who thought of the idea first, because neither of you is coming with us.” She looked to Morhion for support. “Am I right?”
“Actually, Mari, both Cormik and Jewel have many connections in the underworld—connections that may prove useful in our search for Stiletto.”
She shot the mage a withering look. “Can’t you be on my side just once, Morhion?”
He gave her a mysterious smile. “Perhaps I’ll surprise you some day.”
It was decided. Their plan was simple enough. They would attempt to follow Caledan’s trail, asking questions about Stiletto along the way. Morhion had discovered an incantation in The Book of the Shadows, an incantation that could be spoken only by one with shadow magic who held the Shadowstar. If they gained the Shadowstar first, Kellen could recite the spell and reverse Caledan’s transformation. At least, so Morhion believed.
But if Caledan reached the Shadowstar before them …
Well, it was best not to consider that possibility, for if Caledan completed his metamorphosis, Morhion was not certain anything could stop him.
Soon the five gathered before the gateway. The horses had balked at being led down the stone staircase, prompting Mari to scold her chestnut gelding, Farenth. He was a prideful beast and, thus insulted, decided to prove his mettle. When Farenth pranced down the steps, the other horses followed willingly: Morhion’s jet-black stallion, Tenebrous; Jewel’s fine-boned mare, Pearl, named for the white mark on her forehead; and Cormik’s sturdy brown destrier, Plinth. Jewel and Cormik had brought a shaggy pony with them for extra supplies, and this provided a perfect mount for Kellen. The pony was a quick and lively creature that Kellen named Flash.
Morhion guided Tenebrous toward the blank stone archway and spread his hands. He concentrated, then spoke a single word, “Avarra!,” which meant “open” in the language of magic.
The rough stone within the arch rippled, blurred, then seemed to melt away like mist. A series of rolling hills beneath a sharp azure sky appeared beyond the arch. Sunlight spilled thick and golden as honey over the dun-colored landscape. Faintly, Morhion heard the soft hiss of wind through dry autumn grass.
“Quickly,” he said through clenched teeth. “I cannot hold the gateway open for long.”
Hastil
y, the others rode under the arch. Sweat pouring down his brow, Morhion was the last, spurring Tenebrous through the magical portal. As he passed through, a thin curtain of cold washed over him, momentarily taking his breath away. He found the others on the other side, looking vaguely ill. It was disconcerting to ride a few dozen feet yet find oneself over sixty leagues away. By horse, the village of Corm Orp lay seven days north of Iriaebor. Vast distances were nothing to the gateway. There were still many of these scattered across the Realms. A man could travel instantly between any of them if he knew the right spells. And if he was lucky, Morhion added to himself.
“It worked,” Morhion murmured in relief.
Cormik gaped at him. “You mean there was a chance it wouldn’t?” he asked. “What might have happened?”
“I really don’t think you want to know,” Morhion replied acerbically. Looking decidedly queasy, Cormik didn’t push the point.
Morhion turned his horse around to face the gateway hovering in the air between two wind-worn standing stones. Through the arch, Morhion could see the chamber beneath his tower.
“Bahadra!” he spoke, adding a sharp gesture—“close” in the tongue of magic. With a flash, the gateway shut. Now, all that could be seen between the standing stones were wave after wave of hills marching toward a distant line of jagged purple peaks. The Sunset Mountains.
“Let’s go,” Morhion said, turning his back to the mountains. He spurred Tenebrous into a gallop, and the others followed behind.
The five rode into Corm Orp with the long shadows of sunset. At first glance, the village seemed pitifully small, no more than a score of stone buildings clustered around a wide place in the Dusk Road, which led from Iriaebor in the south all the way to the city of Elturel to the west. However, a closer look showed that the low hills bordering the vale were dotted with numerous brightly painted doors. Most of Corm Orp’s residents were halflings, and the diminutive folk preferred to dwell in their snug underground burrows rather than in drafty aboveground houses like the big folk.
As they rode into town, the companions noticed what seemed to be signs of a bad fire. Broad swaths of the village commons were blackened and barren, and several stone houses had been twisted into grotesque lumps as if they had been melted by a terrible heat. The five travelers made for the village inn, a blocky, comfortable stone building that leaned against a steep slope. Inside, the Green Door was much larger than it appeared, for it extended back into the hillside and thus had rooms that would appeal to halfling as well as human patrons.