Realms of the Arcane a-5

by Brian M. Thomsen

It flew to her, and she clutched it like a drowning sailor clings to a spar as she went down into haunted darkness…

  "L–Lady? Lady Aerindel?" one of the chambermaids called tentatively.

  The lady who lay curled up like a child moved her head and murmured something.

  "Lady Aerindel? Great Lady… are you well?"

  Abruptly the wild-haired figure in the tattered black gown sat upright and stared into the moonlight. The staff in her hands thrummed once, and tugged at her grasp.

  Aerindel screamed in anguish. Rammast must be calling it from afar!

  It was her last weapon… her last hope. The staff moaned and wrenched at her numbed fingers again, and Aerindel came to her feet with another raw scream, wrapping herself around it.

  She stood panting in the pitiless moonlight, staring around the ruined hall and wondering just what she could do against the ruthless Lord of Grand Thentor. The staff snarled against her bosom again, and Aerindel snarled back at it in frustration.

  In the brief silence that followed, she heard the frightened sobs of the fleeing chambermaid echoing back to her down one of the kitchen passages, and drew in a long, shuddering breath.

  She had fought, and been overmastered with contemptuous ease. There were no hidden tricks or lurking spells left to her; she was doomed, and Dusklake with her.

  As her father had once said to an excited Dabras, looking down from the wind-lashed top of Mount Glim-merdown at a battle in the pass below, "It's all over now, but the praying."

  But the praying…

  Well, what else could she do?

  Aerindel tucked the Stormstaff under her chin and rushed from the hall, padding through the darkened passages of the castle toward a certain dusty and neglected back stair. Many of the torches were unlit, and there were neither guards nor servants to be seen. Had they all fled? Or had some dark magic sent by Rammast slain them all?

  Their fates were worries for later. Right now, she had to find, in the deepening darkness beyond the pantries, the way down to the family crypt.

  In the end, though she feared to awaken it, Aerindel was forced to use the Stormstaff to conjure a faint radiance-or break her neck falling down unseen steps to the gate adorned with the split oak Summertyn badge.

  Her father's staff made a strange, muted sound, like many voices chanting a wordless, endless chorus. It obeyed her even so, with none of the tugging it had displayed in the feast hall. Perhaps Rammast's spells couldn't reach it down here.

  Aerindel lacked the key that others would need, but she was of the blood of Summertyn, and a quick bite of her hand brought forth red blood that she could dab on the badge. At its touch, there was a faint singing sound, and the gate opened.

  The door beyond had no lock or fastening, and she pushed it inward with her foot, smelling the familiar damp, earthy smell that always clung to the resting place of her forebears.

  There was the long, slender casket of Haerindra, the mother she'd never known. Beyond it, the high-canopied tomb of Orbrar, and to the right, the great black coffin of her father.

  The Stormstaff suddenly hummed, a deep groan that was echoed by the black stone that enclosed her father's ashes-and Aerindel nearly turned and fled. This had never happened before.

  A light-a faint glow of the air, not a spark or flame- occurred suddenly in front of her, in the open space between the three caskets she knew. By its brightening radiance she saw other coffins, stretching back into dark, vaulted distances… and the source of the light: a blue-white star glowing on a simple stone marker.

  The altar of Mystra. It had been a long time-too long-since she'd knelt here to pray for guidance. She went to her knees in a rush. Drops of blood from her hand fell upon the stone and startled her by flaring instantly into smoke that drifted around her, and then faded away as abruptly as it had come.

  "Mother of Mysteries," she whispered, "I have neglected you and failed in my diligence at crafting your holy Art of magic… but I need you now, and am come to beg forgiveness and plead for guidance. Holy Mystra, aid me!"

  "Aid is at hand," a faint whisper promptly came out of the darkness to her right. Aerindel was so startled that she almost dropped the staff.

  A moment later, she realized that the staff was sinking… sinking into the solid stone she was kneeling on!

  She tugged on it, but was as overmatched as if she'd been trying to hold back a surging stallion. The staff moved powerfully downward, burning her clutching fingers as it slid between them, going down into stone that had no hole nor mark… and was cool and hard under her fingertips after it was gone.

  Mystra had taken-reclaimed-the Stormstaff. What sort of aid was this?

  Kneeling in the near-darkness, Aerindel heard the faint whisper again: "Set aside fear, and put me on."

  She peered into the gloom, seeking the source of that softest of voices. It repeated its message, and by the rasping words she located it: a crown, lying atop her father's coffin.

  A chill touched her heart. The black stone resting-place of Thabras Stormstaff had been bare of all but dust when she'd first looked at it, moments ago.

  And yet she knew this crown. She remembered seeing her father wearing it once or twice, when she was young. Aerindel frowned. It was no part of the regalia of Dusklake, and had disappeared before his death. So far as she knew, it had never been in the coffin of Thabras.

  She stared at that black stone casket for a moment, considering, but knew she dared not try to open it, even if she'd commanded strength enough to shift its massive lid.

  On the altar before her, the blue-white star flashed once and then started to fade. At the same time, the crown began to glow.

  "Set aside fear, and put me on," the insistent whisper came again.

  Aerindel knelt in the dark crypt and stared at the circlet, fear rising in her breast. What choice did she have? If she hesitated, fear might win, and send her running from this place-so she made her arms stretch forth without hesitation, and took up the crown.

  It was cool in her hand, but not as heavy as it looked. It seemed to tingle slightly as she peered at it, found no markings nor gems, shrugged again-and settled it on her head.

  All at once, she was shivering as a sudden cold wind seemed to blow through her head, and someone nearby-a woman, both desperate and furious-screamed, "No! You shall not have me!"

  Her cry was drowned out in deep, exultant laughter, which bubbled up into the words, uttered in a different voice entirely, "Of course, I can also do-this."

  "Oh, Mystra," came the next speaker, a hoarse whisper seeming to speak right into her ear-she turned her head, but there was no one there-"aid me now!"

  "This is no time," the next voice said wearily, "for fools to play at wizardry! Watch!"

  "Elminster, aid me!"

  That voice made Aerindel stiffen, and tears came. It was her father's voice-and Elminster, she dimly remembered, had been his tutor, and the wizard he'd loved and trusted most. "Aid me!" her father had cried, so anguished, and desperate…

  Just as she was. Aerindel sat numbly, the tears trickling down her cheeks, as the voices went on, crying the same things over and over again. Some of them seemed so… final. As doomed as she was. As if they were crying out their last words before death.

  When she'd heard Thabras say those same three words the fourth time, the spectral tongues seemed to grow fainter, and those that screamed or cried wordlessly died away altogether. Another voice-the insistent whisper she'd heard first-rose over them all. "I am the power you need to keep Dusklake safe, and destroy Rammast forever."

  Aerindel got up, putting a cautious hand to her head to be sure the crown was secure, and looked around the crypt. The crown seemed to wink, and suddenly she could see every dark corner as if it was brightly lit.

  "I let you see in the dark, and pierce disguises. I let your eyes travel afar…"

  She was suddenly seeing an endless sea, silvery under the moonlight, and knew that she was seeing the Great Water that lay west of the E
smeltaran, beyond the Cloud Peaks. And then that vision was swept away, and she was seeing a woman she did not know rising up out of a furious battle. Bolts of flame burst from the crown and felled screaming warriors, hurling many through the air like broken dolls. She watched a severed arm whirl away by itself.

  The crown said, "With me, you can do this."

  The scene changed, and she was seeing a bearded man standing grimly in a dungeon cell. The crown on his brow flashed with sudden white storm-fire, and the stones before him cracked and melted, flowing aside as the busy lightning cut a man-high tunnel into them.

  "And this," the crown whispered.

  The scene changed again. She was wearing the crown, this time, and a hydra was rearing up above her, on a sun-dappled forest path somewhere, snapping its jaws horribly. The crown quivered, and suddenly the hydra was shrinking and twisting, flailing its long necks vainly, as it hardened into a gnarled, triple-trunked tree.

  "And this," the whisper came again, "among many more powers… if you have the courage to wield them."

  "How?" the Lady of Dusklake asked in sudden, eager excitement.

  There was a new warmth within her, and a surge of… satisfaction?

  What followed felt uncomfortable and slithering and somehow private, as the crown seemed to harness itself to her will. Aerindel shuddered as energy flowed both icy and warm within her, coiling in her vitals and rushing out to her fingertips. She heard a moan that was almost a purr, and realized hazily that it must have come from her own lips.

  And then the strangeness was gone, and she was herself again.

  Feeling leaping hope and a certain restlessness, the Lady of Dusklake knelt again at the altar to thank Mystra, sprang up, and whirled around.

  As she hurried up the steps, her will quested out ahead of her. That farseeing… right now, her most urgent need was to find out where Rammast was, and what he was up to.

  There was an exclamation in the darkness ahead of her, and the flash of drawn steel. She slowed, but suddenly she was seeing not a startled Duskan guard, bowing to her at the head of the crypt stairs with fear in his face and a naked sword in his hand, but the bloody-taloned golden eagle banner of Grand Thentor, fluttering in torchlight.

  Torchlight somewhere in a night-dark forest where frightened folk screamed and fled into the trees all around, along a muddy road where the warriors of Grand Thentor strode laughing… a road she knew.

  A moment later, Rammast's war band passed by a tavern signboard, and she was sure. Dusking! They were in Dusking, at the other end of her realm-already invading Dusklake, to put her folk to the sword!

  A woman screamed in that far place, and Aerindel found herself trembling with rage.

  "Take me there!" she snarled. There was an exhilarating surge within her, a moment of terror when the world rushed and flowed, all around… and then she was standing in the night, in the muddy road through Dusking, with that banner bearing down on her, and a host of men with drawn swords tramping around it.

  A Thentan soldier hooted at the sight of the fine-gowned lady standing alone in the way before him, and waved the torch he held. "Look, lads! Mine, I tell you, this one's-"

  Aerindel bent her grim gaze upon him, her eyes dark with hatred, and willed forth fire. The bobbing torch blossomed into sparks as the crown spat out flame at the one who held it.

  The soldier was suddenly headless, and then half a staggering man-and then two quivering legs with nothing above them.

  The fire roared like a dragon through the rest of the invaders, tumbling those it did not turn to ashes. Swords melted away in crumbling hands, men shouted and then fell silent, and the reek of burnt flesh rose thick around the Lady of Dusklake as she strode forward.

  The last soldier fell with a despairing, bubbling scream; she watched his flesh melt from his bones amid greasy smoke, and looked down the empty, ashen street to be sure she had destroyed every last Thentan.

  In the distance, along the road, something suddenly glowed in the night. She willed the crown to take her to it-and found herself looking into the angry eyes of Rammast Tarangar. The glow of the magic that had brought him was still fading around his limbs; he snarled at her in astonishment, and a ring flashed on one of his hands as he raised it and made a punching motion at her.

  A magic that would have twisted her into a toad-thing plucked at her limbs; the crown told her what it was, shattered it, and sent a withering ray at the Lord of Grand Thentor.

  Rammast staggered back, alarm clear on his suddenly pale face, as a ward around him was overwhelmed and cast down in an instant, and the ray bored in at him, clawing his arm and side and shoulder.

  Gasping, suddenly enfeebled, Rammast cast a dispel of his own, banishing the blight the crown had sent him; Aerindel smiled grimly and smashed him to the ground with a stabbing thrust of force. Watching him writhe as ribs snapped and he grunted and sobbed in pain, she mustered all she knew of what the crown could do, and bored in at him again, seeking to see into his mind.

  Rammast's frightened eyes filled her vision; he gibbered like a mindless thing in sudden fear of her as the crown carried her through his pain and hatred and awareness of the hard ground beneath him, here and now… and on into what he had been thinking about, and where he had been.

  A vision unfolded suddenly in her mind; his vision. She saw a great company of armed warriors, harnesses creaking as they filed through a narrow way in the mountains. Gods above! She was seeing the main army of Grand Thentor invading the other end of Dusklake, hard by her castle-through the narrow, perilous Glim-merdown Pass!

  The vision was suddenly shattered. The crumpled turf before her was bare; Rammast managed to work a magic that tore him free from Dusking and her scrutiny, and whirled him away to safety.

  Aerindel shrugged. She had to be gone from here herself-to the windswept top of Mount Glimmerdown, forthwith!

  'To will it is to do the deed," the crown whispered, as seductively as any lover… and she found herself standing elsewhere, on bare stone with a cool breeze sliding past. She was on the mountaintop where her father had triumphed, so long ago. There were faint creakings, and the snortings of restive horses, from the dark cleft below her.

  The Lady of Dusklake looked down, hard-eyed, at the invaders she could not see, and felt rage building within her.

  Across empty air was the sister peak to the one she stood on, High Glimmerdown; the moonlight showed her its ragged edge.

  "Down," Aerindel whispered to it, gesturing into the cleft between the two heights. "Go down on them."

  She gathered her will, pointed at the rocks across the pass, and gestured grandly, downward. A few stones broke free and fell, bouncing down out of sight.

  There were crashes and startled shouts from below, but Aerindel did not hear them. She was swaying in the night, feeling suddenly weak and sick. She went to her knees to avoid following the rocks down into the pass, and clutched at her head. What was wrong with her?

  She felt… strange. The Lady of Dusklake gritted her teeth. Whatever her malady, her realm needed her now, before those men with their swords got out among her sleeping folk, and stormed a castle that had no more than a dozen men awake to defend it… if she was lucky.

  They were hurrying in the cleft below her, now. A man who'd been screaming abruptly fell silent- sworded by his comrades to keep from rousing her people, no doubt.

  Aerindel clenched her fists, glared again at the rocks of High Glimmerdown, and hissed, "Down! Smash away the mountainside, and send it down to bury them!"

  A red rain seemed to burst inside her head, and she was suddenly lying on her face on hard rock, as the roar of falling rock rose up around her, amid ragged screams from below.

  The Lady of Dusklake clung to her own name, gasping in a sudden sea of confusion. Who was she? Where was she? She seemed to be drifting in mists, and folk wearing her crown were there too; she glimpsed them from time to time. All of them had sad faces, and looked weary and wasted. They grew older and more sh
riveled as she watched, wasting away…

  She heard shouts and curses from below, and someone snarling to "Abandon the horses! We've blades enough to slaughter a dozen Duskan garrisons, you fools! Just get out of this pass before they can send us any more rockfalls! Move, damn you!"

  Aerindel swallowed. She hadn't crushed them all. She raised her eyes again to the freshly scoured face of High Glimmerdown, much changed where rocks as big as cottages had broken away. She fought to stay awake.

  A yellow haze was rising to blot out the night, rising behind her eyes. "Down," she whispered, trembling on the stones, "go down upon them all. Let not a Thentan man survive, to swing his sword in my fair Dusklake."

  The crown surged again, and Aerindel felt pain in every joint as well as in her breast, head, and belly. She groaned aloud, trying to writhe on the stones but finding her limbs too weak to lift.

  The stones were shaking, though-shaking with a deep, teeth-rattling roar that grew louder and faster and finally thunderous, as High Glimmerdown poured itself down into the mountain pass, stones shrieking like women in pain as the dust rose and the host of Grand Thentor was buried alive.

  Aerindel bounced bloodily across the quaking moun-taintop, and fetched up against a jagged knob of rock. The dust-shrouded ruin of the pass gaped in front of her as she retched and sobbed and spasmed uncontrollably. Despite her tumblings, the crown seemed welded to her temples-and by the faint light it now began to emit, through no doing of hers, she saw that her hands were as wrinkled as those of an old woman.

  The crown fed on its wearers, somehow. Aerindel held that thought for a time, but her wits seemed to wander again and again, memory showing her boulders bouncing and rolling down the side of High Glimmerdown, and she could not think of the next thing.

  Just as she'd stood waiting in the feast hall, dreading the coming of Rammast but knowing no clever thing she could do.

  Rammast. He could still be up to something! She had to see him, to know what he was doing. Coming to strike at her in her chambers at the castle, if she knew him-but not yet. She'd hurt him, at Dusking, and he'd go to banish the pain before anything else. Heal, and take up new spells and magic weapons, before he came seeking her.