“And so we come to my story,” Erak said. “I awoke in a stone coffin, which was sealed within a stone mausoleum in the graveyard outside Winterhaven. I have few memories of the time before I awoke. I remember the voice of the woman, a woman I believe might be the Raven Queen, but I don’t know that for certain. The voice told me to get up and get on with the work I was to do. The voice called me ‘my champion,’ for whatever that is worth, and I found these clothes and weapons wrapped and waiting for me within the mausoleum.”
“I recognized you as a revenant when you first came to our aid,” Albanon admitted. “I’ve studied lore concerning revenants and read a few accounts of revenant heroes in the histories of Andral the Sage.”
“Then you probably know more about me and my kind than I do, friend eladrin, for my memories remain fragmented and incomplete. But I have felt a number of … compulsions since I awoke. I felt compelled to go to the aid of Shara and Uldane when kobolds ambushed them on the King’s Road. I felt compelled to ask Falon and Darrum to join us when we encountered them at Fallcrest. I felt compelled to lead us all here, to Thunderspire Mountain, and along the way I felt compelled to help you drive off the Wolf Runners. I believe that whatever force has directed me back to this world, be it the Raven Queen or some other unknowable power, has brought us together for a purpose that I have yet to fully understand. But we need to stick together. We need to aid each other, for our quests are linked in a way that I feel will soon become clear.”
Erak decided not to add that Shara believed that he was Jarren returned to life. Just as with Falon’s heritage, there were secrets that it wasn’t yet time to share. And, although he hadn’t tried to dispel Shara’s feelings, Erak didn’t believe that her impressions were totally correct. Although he felt a strong connection to the warrior woman, he felt no such connection to the name or memory of Jarren.
“You’ve heard our tales,” Darrum said, turning to look at Albanon and Roghar. “What’s your story?”
Albanon swallowed hard, letting his eyes drop to stare at the table. The pseudodragon moved to the young wizard’s side, rubbing up against his arm until the eladrin placed his hand on the creature’s neck and began to pet her gently.
“I was apprenticed to the great wizard Moorin, who controlled the Glowing Tower in Fallcrest,” Albanon said quietly. “I returned to the tower a few night’s ago to find that the wards had been disabled. On the upper level of the tower, I found Moorin murdered, his bloody body among the wreckage of the room that suggested that a mighty battle had taken place.”
“I saw it all,” Splendid added. “An alien thing, not of this reality, wore the body of a female halfling as though it was a suit of ill-fitting clothing. It was looking for something, and it killed the Great Moorin without any sense of mercy or trepidation.”
“Roghar and his companion Tempest agreed to accompany me to find the villain,” Albanon explained. “We followed the halfling-thing south, across the Moon Hills to the ruins of Kalton Manor. It was a terrible creature, wearing the halfling much as Splendid said, although by this point the body had taken a considerable beating and strange, red liquid run through with streaks of silver and flecks of gold oozed from wounds that would have brought down a larger creature. It recognized that I was a wizard, but it seemed to have little understanding of the arcane arts. It demanded that I send it after ‘the Voidharrow,’ whatever that was. It seemed to believe that the magic circle in the ruins had been used to teleport someone to a distant location. I … tricked … the creature. I figured that if I sent it into the Labyrinth beneath Thunderspire, it would either get well and truly lost or be attacked and destroyed by the monsters that prowl the constant dark under the mountain.”
When Albanon paused, Falon asked the question that was on everyone’s mind. “Where’s your companion? Where’s Tempest?”
Albanon tried to speak, but no words came out of his open mouth. So Roghar picked up the narrative. “The halfling-thing leaped into the glowing portal that Albanon had opened,” Roghar said, his voice distant and lacking emotion. “Unfortunately, it took Tempest with it when it left.”
“We’re going to try to find them,” Albanon finally managed to say. “We’re going to try to save Tempest before.…” He trailed off, and neither Roghar nor Splendid decided to finish the thought.
The others fiddled quietly with their tankards and plates of half-eaten food as Shara returned to her seat. She looked at Erak, who nodded. Then she said in a strong, clear voice, “Our quests may be connected or they may not be, but it is clear that Albanon and Roghar need our help. Whatever else we’re here to do, surely we must have come together to track down this alien thing and save your friend Tempest. That’s what I feel compelled to do. What about you, Erak?”
Erak smiled grimly. “Yes,” he said, “I have a similar feeling concerning this.”
Albanon looked at the companions gratefully, but before they could discuss the situation further, the door to the inn burst open. A large, well-dressed ogre pushed his bulky frame into the common room. A regal looking figure in black robes and wearing a gold mask followed a moment later.
“The Ordinator Arcanis,” Albanon said with something like awe in his voice.
Erak moved to stand up, but the ogre used the back of its large hand to knock the revenant back into his seat.
“No need ta get up on our accounts,” the ogre said. “Stay seated an’ we’ll get tru dis real quick.”
The Ordinator glided to the companions’ table, his stylized mask unreadable. A deep voice issued forth from beneath the gold mask. “I have been tasked with relaying a message to you, honorable revenant,” the Ordinator said. “The Mages of Saruun have no desire to get between the agents of either the Raven Queen or Orcus, and we ask that you take your conflict out of the Seven-Pillared Hall.”
“The message?” Erak prompted.
“His eminence, Emperor Magroth of Nerath, bids that I tell you that he has taken the Shining Road north, toward the Old Hills,” the Ordinator said. “If you wish to catch up with him, you’ll need to hurry.”
“Emperor Magroth? He died well over five hundred years ago,” Darrum said, a hint of fear breaking the dwarf’s usual composure.
Erak knew that name, but his memories refused to cooperate and he couldn’t put anything into context. Still, the name made him feel uneasy.
“I assure you, dwarf, it was the Mad Emperor who left this Hall merely an hour ago,” the Ordinator said.
“Undead,” the ogre muttered, a noticeable shiver in his voice.
“One of you must be related to Magroth in some way,” the Ordinator continued. “He also bid you follow after him.”
“To what purpose, mage?” Shara demanded.
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” the Ordinator said wearily. “I have dispatched the task assigned to me, and now I would like all of you to leave the Seven-Pillared Hall. We want nothing more to do with the affairs of demon princes or gods of fate and death.”
The Ordinator Arcanis departed the common room as he had entered. The ogre followed after him, but not before he gave the companions a stern look and pointed at them menacingly, each in turn. He wiggled through the door frame that was two sizes two small for his massive bulk, and then he reached back in to shut the door.
“Allow me,” said Erra Halfmoon, the halfling matron of the inn, as she slammed the door behind the departing Ordinator and ogre. Then she turned to the companions. “Well? What are you waiting for? Take your trouble and kindly get out of my establishment. Please.”
“The Shining Road,” Albanon said, collecting his pack from where it was sitting on the floor beside the table.
“What about it?” asked Darrum.
“That’s the fastest way to get from the Hall to where I sent the halfling-thing.”
Erak stood, motioning for the others to follow.
“Then it seems our path is clear,” he said, and he headed for the door.
57 THE SHINING ROAD, NIGHT
Magroth strolled along the eastern wall of the wide passage, humming and running his fingers along the cool stone. The stoneguard followed behind him, silent except for the heavy footfalls of its massive feet. Light gathered atop Magroth’s staff and illuminated the path, and the emperor felt almost giddy with anticipation. Soon, he would reach the hidden necropolis of Andok Sur. There, he would use the blood of his descendent to corrupt Barana’s ritual to his own purposes. And then Magroth would be free. Free of the curse that bound him to the Shadowfell. Free of the obligations he owed to Orcus. Free!
“Where is that impertinent knight-commander?” Magroth wondered.
Soon the vampire-lich came to the remains of a recent battle. He increased the intensity of the arcane light floating atop his staff so that he could study the area. He easily noticed the slain rage drake and the bodies of the four dead troglodytes. There was a circular scorch pattern that had to have been created by Kalaban’s unholy flames. Magroth kicked one of the dead trogs. “Well done, my servant,” he said, willing to compliment the knight-commander when he wasn’t within earshot.
The Mad Emperor extended his senses, letting his arcane sensitivity search for anything that could either be useful or dangerous in the area. It didn’t take long for Magroth to see the traps hidden all along the passage. He laughed as an idea sprang to his mind.
“I need to meet this descendant of mine, but the rest of his companions are of no interest to me,” Magroth said to the stoneguard. “No, not even the revenant.”
He placed his hand on to the wall and reached into the stone with his arcane senses. It didn’t take that much effort to activate the trap mechanisms. He imagined that after all these centuries some of the mechanisms might not function. But some should still work. “After all, I’m still working after all these years,” he laughed, and even the stoneguard took a step away from the vampire-lich.
“Let’s see if my descendant and his friends can make it past these ancient traps,” Magroth said.
Then he began to hum again, and he started walking northeast, in the general direction of the Old Hills.
The stoneguard pounded after him as pressure plates and trip wires and other mechanisms clicked into operation in the passage behind them.
58 THE SHINING ROAD, NIGHT
Roghar and the others rode into the wide passage known as the Shining Road. They had to work to control their mounts, because the animals weren’t keen to travel in the darkness under the mountain. Albanon had called forth arcane light, so it wasn’t like they were traveling in complete darkness, but it certainly wasn’t the same as riding under the open sky.
“I can’t believe that I’ve been thrown out of the Seven-Pillared Hall,” Roghar complained. “That’s an all-time low.”
Uldane took a sunrod from his pack and activated the minor magic item. He slid the sunrod through a loop at his shoulder so that he could keep his hands free while still benefiting from the item’s light. “I’ll scout ahead,” the halfling said, and he urged his horse into a gallop.
“And I’ll keep an eye on Uldane,” Shara said, following behind the halfling. “If he sees something shiny, he might disappear down a side corridor and we’d never see him again.”
Roghar and Erak rode side by side, with Albanon close behind them. Bringing up the rear were Falon and Darrum. The dragonborn paladin whispered quietly to the revenant. “Is it Shara or Falon?” he asked.
“I’m sorry?” Erak questioned back, but Roghar got the sense that the revenant knew exactly what he was asking.
“The descendant of the Mad Emperor. Anyone with the slightest amount of schooling knows about the story of Magroth the Mad and how he was assassinated by one of his own guards. His descendant must be a human, so that means it’s either Shara or Falon. Which one?”
Erak gave the paladin a hard look. “Is that really important right now?”
“I’d rather know now so that when it does become important I’m ready for it.”
“Fair,” Erak nodded. “It’s Falon. Darrum is an Imperial Shield and Falon is the heir to the throne of Nerath.”
“Great,” said Albanon. “That and five silver pieces will get him a room at the Nentir Inn. It’s not like there’s a throne and a kingdom just sitting around waiting for him to claim it.”
“No, but Orcus still seems to want him dead,” Erak said, “which means that I want to do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“I can get behind that course of action,” Roghar agreed.
“Good. I may need to call on your skills before this is all said and done.”
Roghar nodded. “As long as we find Tempest first,” the paladin said. “Then I’ll help you in whatever way I can.”
“As will I,” said Albanon.
“An honest-to-goodness member of the royal blood,” Splendid cooed. “You meet the most interesting people when you’re out adventuring.”
Uldane and Shara had halted just up ahead. Roghar and Erak rode over to meet them.
“Trouble?” Erak asked.
“You could say that,” Shara said. “Uldane has spotted something.”
“Well, spit it out, halfling,” Roghar said. “The suspense is killing us.”
“Traps,” Uldane said quietly. “The passage ahead is full of traps.”
59 THE AVENUE OF GLORY, NIGHT
Kalaban strode boldly through the darkness until he came to a fork in the path. The Shining Road continued to the left, while a passage adorned with heroic and monstrous statues split off to the right. The knight-commander hesitated for only a moment before deciding that his path was through the statue-lined passage. He could see perfectly well in the dark, and the statues in the passage were magnificent and terrifying. Many depicted demons of various sorts, but intermingled among the demons were a variety of minotaurs in heroic poses. A gallery of demons and heroes, all worshiped in one form or another by the minotaurs of ancient Saruun Khel.
He continued along the wide underground avenue, thinking of some of the parades he had participated in when the heart in his chest still beat and his flesh was warm and supple. The lines of bystanders were never this monstrous or ugly, Kalaban thought as he studied one of the demonic statues to his right, even in the outer territories.
Kalaban passed a number of small passages and side chambers that led away from the broad avenue he traveled. Every so often, he heard a sound from one of these dark openings—a scrape of metal or bone on stone, a low growl, or even a caw or cry or roar. He ignored these sounds. Whatever had drawn him into the depths of the Labyrinth, it was ahead of him and not in one of these side passages. No matter what strange sound emerged from either side of the avenue, Kalaban never slowed, never paused to determine what had made the noise. If it was important or overtly hostile, he had no doubt that it would emerge to confront him. He would deal with it then. For now, he stayed focused on his task and walked straight ahead into the darkness.
As Kalaban approached a section where another wide passage intersected the avenue from the left, he slowed his pace, took a few more steps forward, and then halted to examine the area. An ornate archway of worked stone framed the intersecting passage. Carvings associated with the demon lord Baphomet, the traditional object of worship for the minotaurs, adorned the archway, suggesting to Kalaban that some sort of temple or shrine was located in that direction. Something else had attracted the knight-commander’s attention, however, and he was trying to determine what had suddenly suggested a looming danger.
“You carry the Voidharrow,” said a voice out of the darkness. The sound echoed among the statues and the far walls, making it impossible for Kalaban to pinpoint the speaker’s location.
Kalaban drew his sword. “Show yourself,” he called back, trying to spot the speaker in the vastness of the passage.
“Give me the Voidharrow,” the voice said. This time it sounded as though it was coming from somewhere above him. Was it flying? Climbing? Hidden on some invisible walkwa
y above the avenue?
Kalaban proceeded forward, moving cautiously as he strained to hear or see where the attack—and there would be an attack, of that he was sure—would come from. A sound from behind him made him jerk around. Something had landed on the stone floor more than a dozen feet away. It appeared to be a female tiefling in leather armor. She held a rune-carved rod in one hand. A warlock, Kalaban decided. But there was something not quite right about this tiefling. She reminded Kalaban of the way the female halfling back at Kalton Manor had moved, more like a puppet on a string than a living thing. And there were cracks radiating out from the corners of her eyes, shallow wounds filled with a glowing red ooze. Just like the halfling-thing. She raised the rod and arcane energy began to crackle along its length.
“Give me the Voidharrow, thief,” the tiefling said, pointing the rod at Kalaban. “Give me the Voidharrow, or you will die and I shall take it from your corpse.”
“Death does not concern me, creature,” Kalaban said, stepping back to dodge whatever curse the warlock was about to throw. He decided that this was the same creature they had encountered at Kalton Manor, only it had traded the battered body of the halfling for that of the tiefling standing before him.
Something was stretched across the avenue, and it caught Kalaban between his ankles and his knees. Not expecting the obstacle to be there, he tripped and fell backward as the backs of his legs tried to move past it and met resistance. He hit the stone floor hard, realizing that he had just tripped over a taut rope. This time, he managed to maintain his grip on his sword.
The tiefling didn’t hesitate. As soon as Kalaban began to fall backward, the tiefling leaped. It was an amazing leap that carried the tiefling some twenty feet into the air and across the distance that separated them. One second, she was more than a dozen feet away. The next, she was standing over him, pointing the blazing rod directly into his face.
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