Raidon said, “What about Adrik’s arm?”
Kiril said, “We are days away from the next closest keep I know of in Sildëyuir. The sorcerer’s best hope remains with us. One of the Cerulean Order keeps watch on the gate leading to Stardeep’s forgotten underpassages. He knows healing arts.”
Raidon replied, “Then let us make haste. Adrik wouldn’t be here but for me.”
He didn’t give voice to his growing anxiety. How safe was his mother in a place that grew less sylvan and more like a war zone with every mile they traveled?
They went afoot for miles, heedless of the shining stars or the pearly gray glimmer that ringed the horizons. They halted for rest only when Adrik collapsed. After that, Raidon supported the sorcerer as they walked.
They passed over dry stream beds on crumbling bridges whose stones, once white, seemed discolored and bruised. They traversed empty crossroads, places where dim ways led to unknowable destinations beneath sagging silver trees. Now and then, murky windows of lonely spires fixed the travelers with blank, empty stares as they passed, unwelcoming and quiet. No lights burned from within those towers; all were dark and still, as if long abandoned.
“These seem as if they’ve been vacant longer than mere months or years,” observed Raidon, who bore more and more of Adrik’s weight as their journey wore on.
Kiril grunted, “The star elves have been in decline for the last millennia.”
Raidon cocked his head, hoping for more explanation, but the swordswoman walked on. Further explanation would not alter the land’s affliction, but understanding the situation might help stem his apprehension. The monk mentally took hold of his mind’s reins and attempted to meditate on tranquility. What will be, will be.
With a day or more of travel behind them, they paused at the lip of a shallow dell. A silver-gray mist flowed sluggishly through the hollow and across the road, like a low fog. The stars above seemed strangely dull.
Kiril said, “We should go around.”
Adrik detached himself from Raidon’s help and mumbled a few arcane syllables, then said, “Good idea. The fog rebuffs my attempts to identify it. What is it?”
“A sign we draw close to Sildëyuir’s edge, where the realm is not stable. Such intrusions have become prevalent since the nilshai’s arrival.”
The sorcerer said, “You’re saying that the mist is … what? A crack in existence?”
“Perhaps. One you don’t want to fall into.” So saying, she turned and walked away from the road and up the side of a hill. Raidon supported the sorcerer, whose spell noticeably weakened him.
But the initial misty streamer, easily bypassed, was a herald of more sightings, occasionally in the distance, other times as barriers thrown across their path. Sometimes long misty arms twisted through the trees to their left or right, paralleling their path like a hungry predator. Other times they were forced to backtrack when their route was cut off by broad swaths of the gray miasma.
Finally the forest thinned and they moved into clear land. A barren, rocky plain sloped down to a flat expanse, as if to the sea. But what lay beyond the stagnant coast was not water. It was a shoreless ocean of gray mist, cold and perfect.
Alone on the beach stood a lean figure. They approached and saw it was a tall, lordly star elf dressed in black robes on which was emblazoned the symbol of a white tree on a field of blue. Raidon recognized a fellow initiate of focus and self-discipline in the man’s ramrod straight posture, though he suspected the elf’s mastery lay over magic instead of the physical arts. The elf had eyes of milk white, with no hint of an iris, and his graceful features were graven with the weight of long care. A platinum circlet clamped his shaved skull. Without hair, his elven ears seemed more sinister than fey.
A circle of dead nilshai lay about the elf’s feet. Blood smudged his face and hands, and dirt stained his clothing. But he was unbowed. He watched calmly as they picked their way down the cruel slope. Raidon nearly carried Adrik when they joined the figure before the silent ocean where reality frayed to nothing.
“Edgewarden,” said Kiril, her back straightening. Raidon understood she must hold great respect for this man. “I hoped you’d still be here, guarding Stardeep’s flank.”
He studied her without speaking for a moment, then he said, “It has been a long time since a Keeper last came to visit me here at the end of the world. But the Keepers of the Cerulean Sign are an old, dusty order, eh? I wondered if perhaps I were the last.”
“Hells and blood! No aberration born or grown has yet been able to best me, and I wield the Blade Cerulean. I, at least, remain. There are Knights still in Stardeep—or there were several days ago. My companions and I must press into Stardeep to determine their fate, and the status of the Traitor.”
The bald elf said, “These creatures”—he gestured at the dead nilshai—“who’ve thrice found me here at the edge as I walked the periphery—do their attacks have anything to do with your desire to enter Stardeep? I guess they must have sympathies for the conspirator who lingers in Stardeep’s deepest dungeon.”
Kiril swallowed. “You have the right of it. The gods-damned nilshai were agents of the aboleths all along. They and the Traitor serve the same abominable masters. I go to discover if the Traitor remains penned; I fear he’s escaped, or is on the cusp of doing so. Angul and I will try to put things right.”
The elf nodded, and Kiril continued. “Edgewarden, if I may—have you had any communication from Stardeep of late? Has news perchance reached you of a former Keeper named Nangulis?”
The man shrugged. “No one comes this way. Except for the nilshai, I haven’t seen anyone before you in seven years.”
Kiril dropped her eyes, glumly nodding.
The Edgewarden looked at Raidon and Adrik. “Are these Keepers I haven’t yet met?” His eyes lingered on Adrik and he frowned. Raidon guessed Adrik would not normally be allowed entry to the hidden realm.
“No—”
The bald elf moved to Adrik, who lay glassy-eyed on the beach. “What ails him?”
Raidon looked up. “He was poisoned by a nilshai. Can you help?”
The Edgewarden bent and ran his fingers lightly over the sorcerer’s arm, chest, and forehead. His eyes narrowed and he said, “I can provide relief, though my ministrations are only temporary.”
So saying, he muttered liquid syllables that were like a cool, refreshing wind. When Raidon tried to recall the sounds a moment later, they were gone. The Edgewarden touched Adrik with fingers sparkling as if with stardust, and some color returned to the sorcerer’s features.
The dark-robed elf stripped away the tourniquet and helped Adrik to his feet. The sorcerer was blinking and gazing around at the beach and misty sea in bemusement. He asked, “How did we get here?”
The Edgewarden patted the sorcerer’s arm and asked Kiril, “And your other companion?”
Kiril pointed at Raidon. “This one carries a relic of our order—his mother was a star elf, though as far as I know she never came to Stardeep. How she got an Amulet of the Sign is a mystery. She passed it to her son.”
The Edgewarden squinted at Raidon, then said, “Such relics are few and far between in these waning days of Sildëyuir. What was your mother’s name?”
The monk said, “Answering that question is the quest that brought me here. I do not know her name, only that she came from this realm.”
“I see,” responded the Edgewarden, shaking his head. “I apologize, but these lands are under threat of collapse …”
Surprising himself, Raidon broke the rules of proper discourse to interrupt. “But I just found this land! How can I protect my mother? What must I do to safeguard Sildëyuir?”
The old elf raised a placating palm. “If you and Kiril succeed in penning the Traitor, if he’s truly free, then Sildëyuir may stabilize enough for me to continue my attempt to reinscribe its borders. If so, return and find me. I think I can help you find your mother. If not, nothing else will matter.”
Unc
ertainty and hope strove in Raidon’s chest. Aloud he said, “Then succeed we must. I will return to speak with you again, Edgewarden.”
“In case you do not return, know this: I suspect your mother’s name is Erunyauvë.”
Raidon asked, “What, do you know her?”
“Many gifts are mine, including divination. When I look at you, I hear that name. And why not—would you be here right now if not for the amulet she left you? It is a name that is not without history of its own, though time is too short to relay it. If … when you return, I shall lend you my expertise in locating her. If she is anywhere within the realm of greater Yuireshanyaar, I can find her.”
Raidon breathed a sigh and bowed his head.
Kiril broke in. “Edgewarden, please show us the path to Stardeep.”
Ignoring the sorcerer, the Edgewarden said, “I shall, before another wave of nilshai descends. I sense them massing somewhere in this damnable flux.”
So saying, he pointed up the grade they’d just descended. Raidon’s eyes found a feature some twenty paces up the slope. What the monk had taken as just another boulder protruding from the sandy grit was revealed as something more: the rocky frame of a massive iron door. Had the Edgewarden dropped an illusion covering a doorway that had been there all along, or had he called the entrance into existence by mere desire?
Xet chimed and landed on top of the rocky frame holding the gate. The tiny construct slapped the door with its long tail. A dull gong tolled out across the misty expanse.
Kiril motioned Raidon forward. “Present your amulet to the doors. Angul would serve, but I prefer to keep him sheathed.”
Raidon blinked, but he pulled forth the forget-me-not his mother—Erunyauvë—had given him. He displayed it before the sealed doorway. Nothing happened. He stepped forward another pace and touched the amulet to the lackluster iron.
Blue light sparked from amulet to gate. Stones danced and skittered down the slope as the entire beach shuddered. With an ear-splitting groan, the iron door swung wide, opening onto a shadowed, dusty stone stair descending into unguessed depths.
They entered Stardeep by a route rarely taken.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Stardeep, Underdungeon
The tunnel split, and split again as the company plunged into the warren of sedimentary rock that underlay Stardeep. The walls were smooth and white, possibly composed of salt and gypsum, but here and there patterns reminiscent of shells, bones, and teeth were picked out in the Knights’ lantern light.
“Shall I send exploratory teams into these side passages?” asked the Knight Commander riding at Telarian’s side.
“Not necessary,” replied Telarian. “They are a distraction from the main route. And the openings are too small for a mounted company. We shall continue along this broad way. We need to make good time in order to catch our opponents as far from Stardeep as possible.” More accurately, as far from Delphe’s influence as possible, he mentally added. He continued aloud, “Perhaps we’ll make it through to the other end. If we can catch our quarry in Sildëyuir, all the better.”
Thindhul, the Knight Commander, awkward in his new authority and betraying a nervous shiver unseemly for his station, said, “How far did you say?”
Telarian frowned. The Commander knew better than to repeat such an insipid question. The passages that perforated the ground below Stardeep were a mystery; they were not delved by Stardeep’s architects, but were discovered only after foundations of the dungeon created to hold the Traitor were mostly complete. Their existence was a surprise, given that the land into which Stardeep was cut was assumed to be virginal, untouched earth called into existence at the same time as the rest of Sildëyuir. If the land beneath Stardeep was riddled with caverns, might the earth below Sildëyuir be as well? And what primeval race left those caverns behind?
Past exploration showed that at least two routes stretched between Stardeep’s underdungeon and Sildëyuir’s outermost edge. Every Keeper knew this much. Unfortunately, nothing more than a couple of incomplete maps remained from those original mapping expeditions. Plus a few oddly conflicting stories about the hazardous nature of the creatures who hunted the dim paths.
No one doubted that traveling the ancient tunnels was risky. Every so often, an enterprising Knight, eager to win a wager or make a name for herself among her squad, would venture into the enigmatic white-walled passages. Often enough, the foolish Knight was never seen again—for which reason the tunnels were forbidden. The restriction only heightened the allure among those already drawn to danger and derring-do. Expeditions of the foolish still launched into the tunnels every few years. Those lucky enough to return would tell tales more interesting than endless echoing tubes. These Knights would return bloodied and pale, babbling of haunting whispers echoing through smooth, endless galleries, great pyramids of living stone, and entities long dead when Sildëyuir was not yet conceived.
No one doubted that danger stalked the tunnels separating Sildëyuir from Stardeep. Great gates and a defender statue guarded Stardeep’s flanks against intruders from the hoary past.
Against Angul, tunnel threats of the tunnels were likely to be less potent. Kiril might well decide to chance the passage, knowing few dangers could stand against her soul-forged steel.
Likewise, with Nis in hand, Telarian was confident he could win through to confront Kiril. Strictly speaking, he didn’t need the entire mounted force of Empyrean Knights riding ahead of him. But that wasn’t the only reason he’d commanded the Knights to accompany him.
You brought them in order to prevent Delphe from using them to hold Stardeep against you upon your return, should she learn of your hidden objectives, came Nis’s emotionless voice directly into his mind.
True. It wouldn’t do for the increasingly suspicious Delphe to sway credulous, virtuous Knights with her misunderstanding of Telarian’s goals. This way, even if Delphe decided to thwart him, he commanded the stronger force. She’d have little chance to persuade their loyalties when they were already in the field. For all Cynosure’s power, Delphe and the construct couldn’t stand against the entire company of Empyrean Knights.
And if he gained Angul and Nis, even that wouldn’t matter.
“Keeper!” spoke the Knight Commander, his tone terse.
A messenger afoot pressed along the line until she reached the side of the Knight Commander’s horse.
The messenger was a Knight apprentice, a girl of no more than twenty, twenty-five years, he guessed. She said, “We’ve come upon a wide space ahead, filled with ruins. A sorcerous wall prevents the vanguard from advancing.”
Telarian and the Knight Commander passed to the front of the column, a short journey in the narrow tunnel.
The Knight vanguard was arrayed before a flickering screen of green and gold, through which a wide cavern was visible. Past the distortion, Telarian glimpsed smooth-cut angles of black stone, broken arches, and the bases of columns whose heights were long crumbled.
From his saddle, he essayed a simple analytical spell. The screen was weak. And old. A wonder it still functioned. A barrier whose usefulness was concluded, except as a warning.
“Just push through,” commanded Telarian. “It may feel unpleasant, but its ability to harm you is long spent.”
When Telarian’s turn came to breach the barrier, shrieking wind assaulted his ears. The lantern light flared, then settled to normal. The diviner stumbled over a ridge in the white floor—an exposed, fossilized spine of some larger-than-elf creature.
Beyond the exposed spine, the tunnel opened into a wide enclosure whose white walls showed compacted seams of eons-preserved bone, layer upon layer.
“Is this a graveyard?” he heard one of the Knights ask in wondering tones.
Near the cavern’s center leaned a pile of broken stone. Telarian’s eyes scanned the heap and then turned up to the cavern’s ceiling. A dark hole, like a mouth agape in pain, punctured the otherwise smooth surface. The wind screamed through the aperture
, howling and abrading the room and its contents with a haze of airborne grit.
The only other exit from the chamber was a tall set of double doors sheeted in hammered, coppery metal.
“Best ignore the ceiling breach—we’d never get the horses up there,” yelled Telarian over the wind. He spurred his mount toward the doors. As he pulled up next to the exit, he was relieved to confirm they were sufficiently high and wide enough to permit two Knights to ride abreast. If he could open them. Rusty stains decorated the metallic surface of the doors where latches might have once protruded.
He reached out one hand and gave the left door an experimental push. Unyielding. He dismounted, grasped Nis with his off hand, and tried again.
Nis pulsed in his grip. Blade-sent geometries, dark and subtle, flared behind his eyes. A logic born of emotionless calculation bent his mind and suffused his body. Mere mortality was suppressed, and his musculature pulsed with certainty. He placed his hand again upon the door and stove it from its hinges. The other door fell as quickly.
Beyond was a natural bore through stone. The passage was basalt, but the walls were streaked with the same white stone as the previous tunnels. The same strata of ancient death lay compacted amid those pale veins.
Telarian surrendered his hold on the soul-forged blade, and the hint of recognition Nis felt toward the strata vanished. The knowledge of who might have been responsible for cutting these passages was again beyond his conjecture.
They made good time then, traveling straight and level, without any side passages to dilute their resolution to move forward. The wind’s strength slackened as they moved farther from where it had first assaulted them, and finally failed altogether, so that only the sounds of clopping hooves rushed down the narrow corridor.
They camped once, strung out over several hundred horse spans, with Knight apprentices moving up and down the line with feed, food, and water for mounts and Knights alike.
When they rode next, they traversed not more than a few miles before they broke into an underground city.
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