Stardeep d-3

by Bruce R Cordell

  "Dawn. I need nothing in Emmech."

  Adrik nodded. "Sure, sure. . where are we going, specifically, within the forest? It is a wide, trackless place. Let's see the map."

  "I have no map."

  The sorcerer cocked his head. "No map? Well, what landmarks shall we steer by?"

  "I only know that my vanished mother came from these woods."

  "You only know. ." Adrik's smile faltered. "That's all, nothing else? I'm not sure … but perhaps we can work with that. From what Yuir village did she hail?"

  "I know not."

  "What about her name? You must know that. We can ask around. ."

  Raidon was already shaking his head. "To me, she was Mother. One day, she told me her old home called her back-the Yuirwood. She gave me something to remember her by-a forget-me-not-and she departed, twelve or so years ago. That is the sum of what I know."

  Adrik's smile wholly departed and became a frown. The sorcerer's gaze fell to the heap of gold Raidon still proffered. A ghost of the grin returned.

  "Right," he said, scooping up half the coins. "Looks like we still need a guide. I don't know this forest from the Rawlinswood."

  Daylight turned dull needles emerald and snow into heaps of glittering diamonds. In the chilly twilight beneath the sunlight canopy, three figures followed a narrow and faintly marked forest path.

  Necalama, an elf, walked at the head of the procession. Perhaps he was a half-elf-Raidon couldn't be sure. Regardless, he moved with an easy, certain stride, rarely looking behind to see whether the monk and sorcerer still followed. Necalama had agreed to lead Raidon Kane and Adrik Commorand through the forest to the well-known if less well-traveled elf refuge of Relkath's Foot.

  Raidon offered their guide payment, but Necalama had shrugged and indicated he was going anyway; the two travelers might as well accompany him. Either way, he explained, it was an easy trek along a well-blazed path.

  Raidon wasn't certain he agreed with the man's assessment of the road-the path they followed, when he could discern it, was nothing like the trade routes he'd traveled since leaving Telflamm. Half the time, it seemed they walked no path at all through the snow-sprinkled forest.

  In fact, walking among the Yuirwood trees was an entirely novel experience to the Shou Town native. He was used to lanes bristling with fellow city dwellers, hurrying this way and that, intent on business or pleasure or both. Colorfully dressed citizens and dual-story buildings clogged perspective whichever way you looked, and the clamor of thousands living next to each other could never be drowned out.

  Here, wind brushed through the trees, whispering green secrets Raidon couldn't decipher, though he suspected messages of tranquility. On more than one occasion, white-coated hares broke from hiding in a flurry of snow and bounded away, racing toward some private corner of the woods. A hawk's cry sounded above the canopy, and once, more distant and higher, a mighty roar stopped Raidon and Adrik in their tracks, though the noise barely drew an upward glance from Necalama. When the elf in the lead showed no sign of pausing or providing any explanation about the origin of the great snarl, Shou and mercenary exchanged a shrug and continued.

  Their guide explained that Relkath's Foot lay across almost the entire breadth of the Yuirwood from where they entered the forest south of Emmech. Such a trip might stretch to four or more long days of travel, or so Raidon initially expected. However, the elf claimed he knew secret paths through the Yuirwood deeps that would end up shaving a day or more off their trip. The sorcerer asked about the possibility of seeing some standing stones marked with ancient glyphs along the way. Necalama had smiled and said they certainly would, else the savings in time would never come to pass.

  On more than one occasion, Raidon found himself listening to the ever-talkative Adrik, who seemed compelled to speak of his many pursuits, a few of which the monk was surprised to find vaguely compelling.

  For instance, Adrik told of how he once emerged from a moldy tomb clutching a spell-twined parchment containing an epic spell of true prophecy. . and then an interesting tree had Adrik off the path and exclaiming over its silver leaves, leaving Raidon wondering about the oracular magic. Another time Adrik was describing a competition he'd entered in a distant city-something called the Duel Arcane, where wizards, sorcerers, warlocks, geomancers, and others with any claim at all to magic congregated to show their art. . and then a bird-cry interrupted the tale. So much for the Duel Arcane; Adrik sidetracked into a long diatribe about a pet hawk he owned as a child.

  Raidon held firm to his focus.

  On day two, Adrik was telling Raidon about something he referred to as chaomancy, which involved all manner of unfamiliar terms such as strange attractors, resonance islands, and words so foreign they failed to find even a fleeting hold in Raidon's mind. Necalama raised a hand, cutting Adrik off in mid-explanation, and pointed, first to the left then to the right.

  The monk scanned for threats, but saw only two stone obelisks, one on either side of the faint trail. The obelisks were weathered and provided a home to many shades of green moss, though intricate inscriptions were clearly visible under the living veneer.

  Adrik broke off his story, clapped his hands together, and ran to the obelisk on the right. "A Yuirwood rune stone!"

  Raidon strangled a sigh before it could shake his focus.

  Necalama smiled. He said, "Such things are scattered all through these lands. The work of an elven civilization long gone, but magic yet remains in some of them."

  Adrik reached out and gingerly traced an angular inscribed symbol. He said, "Yes-I sense something slumbering. I can't quite make out its purpose.."

  Their guide said, "No need for you to trouble yourself-I know their power. These obelisks are bound with enchantments that bend distance, making shortcuts of what would otherwise be long roads."

  "A portal?" Adrik stepped back.

  The elf waggled his hand, tilting his head to one side. He said, "Close, but not precisely correct. So yes, you might describe it as a portal. Follow me through and you can decide for yourself what you want to call it."

  So saying, Necalama strode down the trail. Raidon tensed, waiting for the half-elf to disappear in a flash of smoke or in a sparkle of strange lights.

  Necalama passed the invisible line between the two standing stones. And nothing; Necalama walked unconcernedly forward, the scones behind him. The guide remained stubbornly, fully visible. After he moved ten or so feet, he paused and gazed back. "Coming?" he asked, amusement curling his lips.

  "It did not work?" inquired the monk.

  "Something happened," said Adrik, one hand held forward, palm out. "I sense a discharge of magic, even now."

  "Come along-follow me between the stones."

  Adrik and Raidon exchanged glances and followed.

  Passing through the stones failed to disturb Raidon's equilibrium in the least. He sensed no change in the environment as he walked. The faint trail ahead remained steady, and looking back, he could still see the route they had traveled prior to passing between the stones, without any discontinuity.

  The monk decided their guide was having a little fun at their expense. Weren't elves known for such foolishness?

  Which meant they still had a few days of travel ahead of them, if their goal was on the western side of the Yuirwood as Necalama earlier indicated. Adrik was mumbling about probability and sliding four-space projections; in other words, gibberish.

  Ahead, the trail broadened into a real, easily discernible path, almost a road. They passed through a copse of rustling aspens. A breath of sweet air moved through the murmuring aspen leaves, refreshing Raidon's mind and body with an insubstantial touch.

  When they emerged from the tiny grove, they found themselves walking down a sun-dappled, leaf-strewn street in a half-elven forest enclave.

  "Welcome to Relkath's Foot!" proclaimed Necalama, his arm sweeping across the panorama.

  Four majestic conifers towered hundreds of feet from their broad bases, thrust
ing high above the forest canopy. These four splendid specimens, old beyond the years of humans, were the heart of Relkath's Foot. From this central landmark radiated hundreds of elevated wooden platforms resting in the boughs of the surrounding forest, strung together by a network of leaf-twined ropes and suspension bridges built of hardy pine. Green-clad half-elves, made tiny by their height above the forest floor, moved here and there across them, intent on personal tasks.

  Elaborately carved and adorned platforms hung in the four largest trees-amazing structures of living wood that served as floors, walls, and lofty ceilings. Leafy doors studded these tree homes, and everblooming flowers grew around all. Warm lamplight flickered from the many open-air windows.

  Though the air was wintry and Raidon's breath steamed, the layer of snow covering the ground in eastern Aglarond was absent.

  Necalama pointed at the top of the tallest of the four conifers, at the largest and most impressive structure. "The Royal Hall," he said. "Princess Blindelsyn Olossyne resides there. The only thing higher near here is an aerie of song dragons allied with the city."

  "Can we go up there?" exclaimed the sorcerer.

  Their guide looked doubtful. He said, "Outsiders are rarely permitted in the boughs. But travelers are welcome in the merchants' square, which includes a pair of inns."

  The elf gestured toward dozens of quaint wooden structures built around a massively wide square on the ground bracketed by the four towering trees. Dozens of figures, mostly elves and half-elves, milled through the area. Raidon recognized some humans, a few halflings, and even a dwarf. The scents of grilled food and the tinkle of music washed across them.

  The mouth-watering aromas enticed the monk, but. .

  "I have questions," Raidon said, turning to face their half-elf guide, "about my mother. Where can I ask-who should I ask?" When Raidon had shown Necalama his mother's forget-me-not during their trip, the elf failed to recognize it, though he said someone in Relkath's Foot was sure to know the meaning of the smoothly regular tree symbol.

  "Inns are good places for questions and, as I said, we have two," replied Necalama. "The Green Man"-the elf pointed to an ordinary wooden house on the north side of the square-"and the Taproot"-he pointed at a lower building that sprawled back into the undergrowth-"are both fine places. Outsiders are more common at the Taproot, which boasts a first-class alehouse and private rooms. The Green Man has only a single common room in which visitors can bed down. The locals prefer it."

  Adrik enthused, "Alehouse! I say-"

  "Best we try the Green Man, then," said Raidon. "The locals are more likely to be able to help me."

  The sorcerer frowned and nodded.

  Necalama said, "You'll find that its spirits are just as fine as the Taproot, Adrik. In fact, if you don't mind my suggestion, ask for a glass of rootweal wine-you'll never find better."

  "I will!"

  They bid their guide good-bye. At the last, Raidon convinced the half-elf to take a couple gold coins for his aid. Then they made directly for the Green Man. The savory smells intensified with every step.

  Perhaps a little food before questions wouldn't hurt.

  The Green Man's common room shimmered with tiny gleaming lanterns that hung as if strung from a garland along the rafters and walls, then twined down the living wooden supports. The light picked out long-legged figures attired in golds, greens, and browns. Most held long-stemmed goblets in one or both hands, others held instruments, and at least a few grasped graven pipes from which fragrant smoke emerged.

  A forest beast turned on a spit in the fire; it was the source of the mouth-watering odor. A woman, a half-elf no doubt, stood in the center of the common room, surrounded on three sides by a sturdy bar of living wood. Dozens of long-stemmed goblets hung bowl-down above her. She smiled a welcome at Raidon when he entered. Adrik received a puzzled nod. "Is he with you?" she called to Raidon.

  The monk blinked, nodded. Again he was struck with surprise-to the residents of Relkath's Foot, he was of elf blood. Of course, he was a half-elf; his heritage was twined with the blood of his mother. But growing up in Telflamm, he considered himself to be Shou first and last, nothing else.

  "Then welcome to the Green Man, travelers," said the barkeep, her smile returned. "What is your pleasure?"

  They crossed the room to stand before the bar.

  "We'd like to try the rootweal?" said Adrik, his voice uncertain as he looked around the room. He was the only human in the Green Man's common room.

  "You have heard about our specialty, I see. Are you sure you are up to it? The draught is potent. For one not of. . someone not used to it."

  The sorcerer ducked his head and said, "If it's all right, I'd like to try it."

  "Of course! And the same for you, traveler?" She looked at Raidon.

  "None for me-please, could you prepare a pot of tea?" he responded.

  The woman cocked her head and a few nearby patrons glanced quizzically at Raidon.

  "I am most sorry, but we do not serve 'T' in the Green Man. I have a few wines, including the rootweal of which you speak. I can offer you a pipe, packed with any of a variety of leaf harvested and dried with an eye toward quality. We also have boiled mushrooms, a multitude of fresh berries, baked biscuits, and roasted venison."

  "Venison sounds perfect, with a few mushrooms? And, very well, I would like to try the wine, too. Rootweal."

  "You shall find none better, traveler."

  In short order, Raidon and Adrik sat opposite each other at a high table. Steaming platters were set before them, heaped with all manner of food, hardly any of which Raidon recognized. But it was all delicious.

  The rootweal was oddly compelling. Raidon expected it to be too sweet, too sour, or too much like drinking vinegar-such was the extent of his experience with wine. The rootweal, a wine the color of red silk, was smooth and full, and tasted. . of something for which he had no name. If pressed, he would have to say that it tasted like a forest meadow alive in the glad light of the sun.

  As they ate and drank, listening to the musicians, Adrik's face grew redder and redder. His smile widened and his laughter grew more frequent and louder. Raidon found a smile on his own lips as he listened to the musical anecdotes.

  A bard strumming a lyre launched into a song describing the founding of the city. The four central trees, he sang, sprouted from the buried foot of the ancient god Relkath of the Numberless Branches. This god, claimed the lyrics, walked the woods primeval along with several other mysterious powers who predated the elves. Several stanzas described unlikely adventures featuring Relkath, and the song ended with the god deciding to rest.

  The bard wrapped up the song with a flourish of twanging strings and announced, "Relkath yet sleeps beneath the forest's soil, someday to awaken when the people of the Yuirwood need their ancient gods once again."

  Everyone in the Green Man raised a goblet, pipe, or whatever was handy high in the air, cheered, and drank.

  Raidon followed suit. Adrik sighed, "Tha' wa' nice," and toppled from his chair.

  Several half-elves nearby laughed, their eyes glinting with festive glee. One said, "Your friend sleeps well tonight, if a bit early." More chuckles. Raidon looked beneath the table. His sorcerous traveling companion was curled beneath the empty chair, already snoring the sleep of the over-intoxicated.

  The monk, familiar with similar antics from Shou not pledged to Xiang Temple, nodded. If the truth were told, he was surprised he hadn't followed the Commorand sorcerer to the floor. Never before had he consumed wine in such quantity.

  It occurred to Raidon that his relative clarity of thought was more evidence of his mother's blood.

  The monk set down his wine and pulled forth his forget-me-not from beneath his clothing. The white, treelike symbol in the center was haloed in night's darkness. Night, where sky blue once winked.

  Raidon stood and held the stone on its silver chain high above his head. He called out, "Who knows the meaning of the symbol on this amulet,
an amulet given me by an elf who hailed from these woods?"

  Those nearby laughed, perhaps thinking he posed a riddle. But riddle or no, they were game, and all wanted to take a look. He allowed the amulet to be passed around to those interested in handling it directly, though he kept an anxious eye on it.

  While the treelike symbol drew most of the interest but no recognition, an elder wood elf named Yarmarion seemed more interested in the cramped, overlapping inscriptions that crusted the sides and rear of the stone. He sat alone, smoke curling up from the pipe clamped in one corner of his mouth. He turned the amulet over and over, squinting hard at the miniature text. Yarmarion said, "These writings are in an ancient tongue, one no longer spoken in the world."

  "What, the language used by sleeping Relkath?" called the bard who'd sung about the resting god.

  Another chimed in, "Would that make it the language of sleep? Sleep that is denied us, which others enjoy so much?" He pointed to the sorcerer's snoring, smiling figure beneath the table. Merriment erupted, but the wood elf holding the amulet slowly nodded, his face a study in consideration.

  "Perhaps," Yarmarion replied. He leaned back in his seat and glanced toward the rafters. "The inscriptions remind me of the text I saw once in an old book. Where was I? Oh yes, a library of Mystra near Calimport, right before the agents of Old Night burned it to the ground. What was it about? Something to do with the theft of sleep, ensuring the first mortals would never discover the truth in their dreams."

  Several patrons laughed and toasted, "To the first mortals, whoever they are!"

  Raidon broke in. "Will dreams show the way to my mother?"

  Yarmarion squinted at the amulet and shrugged, "How could elves like us ever know?" He tossed it across the room to the monk. "Sorry, traveler, I have never before seen the primary symbol. But I can tell you this-a potency lies within that stone, slumbering."

  "A potency?"

  "Powerful magic is wound deep within your amulet. I am not so old that I can't sense sorcery, especially of such strength."

  "What kind of sorcery?" Raidon whispered, suddenly wondering if he were channeling Adrik's relentless manner.