Forsaken House (7 page)

“There is one more thing, Lord Seiveril,” he said. “When I found Philaerin, he was dead, but he had managed to hide something from his attackers—a telkiird Araevin reached into the pouch at his belt and produced the small, dark stone. In the daylight of the study, the faint violet gleam in its heart was almost invisible. “Philaerin concealed the gemstone in an extradimensional,

space. I noticed the spell and dispelled it when we found his body. I do not know for certain, but it seems likely that the high mage deemed this too important to fall into enemy hands and hid it as quickly as he could.”

“A telkiira?” Seiveril looked up. Araevin handed him the lorestone, and the noble studied it, peering into its depths. “I have not seen one like this before. Do you have any idea what it holds?”

He passed the loregem to Ilsevele, who held it up between her thumb and forefinger and peered closely at it.

“No,” Araevin answered, shaking his head. “Philaerin never mentioned it before. I saw several other telkiira that he kept, but never that one.”

“Strange. I think there is lettering in the stone,” Ilsevele said. She looked closer. “Yes, there is. If you stare closely at the flicker in the depths of the gem, it seems to form itself into sigils or runes.”

“Be careful!” Araevin said. “Magic runes can hold terrible spells. I’d better have a look at that.”

“I know,” Ilsevele said, but she recoiled and quickly handed it back to Araevin. “It seems safe enough to handle, anyway. Are you sure you can spot any dangerous sigils before they’re triggered?”

“I know a spell or two that can unravel magical traps of that sort.” Araevin thought for a moment, and wove a spell of deciphering with a few adroit passes of his hand and whispered words of arcane power. Then he held the loregem up to his eye and looked closely.

At first he saw little more than a dark purple blur, speckled with glimmers of lighter violet from the inner facets of the stone. Then he caught sight of the strange inner gleam, and fixed his eye on that. Instantly the wavering, inconstant flicker grew sharp and clear, forming itself into the shape of a rune that Araevin knew: dramach. It was a rune of sealing, a potent defense against intrusion.

Runes and magical signs used as seals could often be bypassed or neutralized by naming them.

Should I proceed? he wondered. Philaerin may have locked this stone for good reason.

On the other hand he would be able to form a much better guess as to the significance of the telkiira if he viewed its contents.

Without looking away from the rune glowing in the stone’s depths, he said its name softly: “Dramach.”

The room whirled madly as he felt himself fall into

the gem.

Light exploded in his head as a procession of brilliant, burning symbols flashed before his eyes. He caught glimpses of thoughts and knowledge that were not his own, fragments of arcane formulae, images of people and places he did not know—a hoary, vine-grown tower in a black forest, a proud sun elf whose eyes gleamed green in a darkened room, a pale hand arranging three stones identical to the one he held in a wooden case, the sudden appearance of an even larger loregem, the sound of a dozen voices chanting together in some sort of rite. Then the burning symbols returned, pressing themselves indelibly into his mind one at a time, each searing a word of power into his brain.

“Araevin!” Ilsevele cried out in concern. Araevin blinked his eyes clear of the hurtful vision, and found himself sitting awkwardly on the floor, the telkiira gripped in his fist. “Araevin! Can you hear me? Are you hurt?”

He stirred slowly, gestured for patience, then said, “No, I am not hurt. The telkiira transferred its knowledge to me. The experience is a little unsettling.”

“You are fortunate that it was not trapped as you had feared,” Seiveril observed. He reached down and helped Araevin to his feet. “You frightened us, Araevin. You simply crumpled without a word. We thought you’d been enspelled.”

Araevin said, “Give me a moment. I will be fine.”

He gingerly felt his way over to the divan and sat down.

“What did you see in the stone?” Ilsevele asked.

“I am not exactly sure … a tower, a pale hand … three stones like this one, and a larger stone with a purple star in its heart. I do not understand it.”

Araevin took a deep breath, and carefully called to mind the bright symbols he’d seen.

Spells, he realized. The telkiira holds the formulae for a number of spells.

Like a great book, the gemstone recorded page after page of arcane words, lists of reagents, and the directions for casting each of the spells it contained. The spells themselves had not been impressed into his mind. Araevin would have to study the words and gather the reagents in order to make use of any of them, just as he did any time he studied his own spellbook and prepared his spells. But he had unlocked the description of the telkiira’s contents, and he could access anything within the lorestone.

He turned his attention to the spells first. The stone held seven of them, he saw. Several he knew already—or, to be more precise, were recorded in the spellbooks he carried in his well-protected rucksack. The spells of teleportation, lightning, the terrible prismatic blast … all were quite common among reasonably skillful wizards, so Araevin was not at all surprised to find that the telkiira held their formulae. Whomever had created the lorestone long ago had naturally recorded useful spells.

He called to mind the remaining symbols he’d seen in his flash of insight, and recognized two more spells that he knew of but had not yet mastered: a spell that could be used to conjure up powerful, and often dangerous creatures from other planes of existence, and another that could cripple one’s enemies with nothing more than a single deadly word of power. But the last two spells in the stone he had never even heard of before. One seemed to be a spell that would turn an enemy’s own spell shields and protective mantles against him—a very useful spell for a wizards’ duel, to say the least. The last spell was incomplete. Araevin frowned and directed his attention at it again, confirming his initial impression. The telkiira recorded only a portion of the spell. The rest of the spell was not there.

“What is it, Araevin?” Seiveril asked. “What have you learned?”

“The telkiira records six spells, and part of a seventh,” Araevin answered. “That is not unusual. I’ve heard of elf wizards using telkiira as spellbooks.” He glanced down at the lorestone in his hand. The lambent light in its heart seemed to flicker a little brighter. “But there is something else here, too. This stone is part of a set. There are two more just like it, and there is a fourth stone as well, larger and more perilous than the others. I think it might be a selukiird.”

“A high loregem?” Seiveril said. The older elf tapped a finger on his chin. “That would be a prize, would it not? Now I think I see why Philaerin might have chosen to hide this telkiira.”

“What is a selukiira?” Ilsevele asked.

“It is like a telkiira, but more powerful,” Araevin explained. “A telkiira is really not much more than a book. It stores whatever information its creators care to place in it—spells, memories, secrets, anything. When someone accesses the telkiira, they can ‘read’ that information quite quickly and accurately, but their comprehension is limited by their own skill and knowledge.

“But a selukiira, a high loregem, is something different. It is a living thing, and it can teach those who view it. It is said that a selukiira can make an apprentice into a high mage in the blink of an eye, if it so chooses. Or it might destroy the one foolish enough to use it, in order to protect the secrets it holds.”

“Do you think Philaerin owned the selukiira you saw in the telkiira?” Ilsevele asked.

Araevin shook his head and replied, “If he did, he would not have told me. He wouldn’t have shared that secret with many people at all. But … I don’t think the selukiira was in Tower Reilloch. This telkiira here—” he held up the dark stone in his hand—”seems to indicate the direction and distance to the next stone. I can feel it in my mind, far to the east almost certainly somewhere in Faerun. And I suspect that if we were to examine the second stone, we would find directions to the third of the set, which would in turn reveal the location of the selukiira I saw.”

He set the telkiira on the low table by the divan, and stood up, frowning as he paced around the room. The study seemed darker, more threatening than it had a right to. Ancient mysteries and hidden peril whispered to Araevin in chill, dead voices.

Seiveril ran a hand through his hair and said, “Well, this is quite a day you have brought to my doorstep, Araevin. One stone missing, one stone found. Deadly battle and foul sorcery on Evermeet’s shores. I fear that great and terrible events are afoot.”

“I am sorry, Lord Seiveril. It seemed prudent to bring the Tower attack to your attention.”

“No, you did well, Araevin. I did not mean to suggest otherwise.” Seiveril sighed and continued, “I must go to Leuthilspar and confer with the queen at once. We will see if we can divine the location of those who stole the Gatekeeper’s Crystal from Reilloch. Amlaruil will want to send our foremost champions in pursuit of the thieves. In the meantime, Lord Muirreste and his knights should suffice to reinforce Tower Reilloch against any additional raids.”

“What about Philaerin’s telkiira?” Araevin asked.

“Finding the other stones may offer some insight into why the daemonfey wanted them,” Ilsevele observed. “And if you know why the daemonfey want the lorestones, we might understand what exactly they are trying to do with the Gatekeeper’s Crystal.”

“Or perhaps they wanted the telkiira because they don’t want that high loregem found,” Seiveril mused. “Could it be a weapon they fear? Some secret weakness they’re afraid we might exploit?” He looked up at Araevin and said, “I will seek Corellon Larethian’s guidance in this matter, but for now, take the stone. My heart tells me that we need to answer this riddle that Philaerin has set for us, whether he meant us to or not.”

“I think so, too,” Araevin said. He picked up the stone and slipped it into the pouch at his belt, murmuring a spell of safekeeping as he did so. “I meant to return to Faerun soon, anyway. I’ll leave tomorrow.”

Ilsevele fixed her eyes on him and asked, “You’ll leave

tomorrow?”

“I think,” Araevin said, “I meant to say that we will

leave tomorrow. That is, if your father will allow me to

carry you off thousands of miles from home.”

“I stopped trying to tell Ilsevele what she could and

couldn’t do a century ago,” Seiveril said with a laugh. “I’m pleased to see that it didn’t take you quite so long to learn not to do that. But both of you—be careful.”

In the depths of the High Forest stood a great stone bluff, a rocky for blanketed by a shaggy cloak of twisted felsul trees and hearty blueleafs. Between the arms of the hill stood a weather-beaten stone door, overgrown with ivy. For years companies of adventurers had gone there to explore its depths and seek out its hidden treasures. They knew it only as the Nameless Dungeon, and had no idea how or why it had come to be built. But the elves of ancient Eaerlann had known the place as Nar Kerymhoarth, the Sleeping Citadel, and refused to name it aloud. They had meant for its secrets to remain hidden for a very long time indeed.

Sarya Dlardrageth studied the door in the stone hill, her arms folded across her chest.

Without taking her eyes away from the door, she asked, “Did any escape?”

“No, my lady,” Nurthel replied. “Lord Xhalph slew them all.”

The elves of the High Forest and the nearby realms had long maintained a watch over the ancient elven road leading to Nar Kerymhoarth to warn away would-be explorers. Sarya had no particular interest in the sentries, so long as they did not interfere in her business, but she was pleased that her minions had been thorough. There was no point in leaving witnesses, after all.

She gestured to her son Xhalph, who stood nearby. Like her, Xhalph was a true daemonfey, half-elf and

half-demon. His father had been a glabrezu, a huge four-armed monstrosity of the Abyss. She did not recall that coupling with any great pleasure, but it had served its purpose. Xhalph was taller and more strongly built than the mightiest human warrior, and he had inherited his demonic father’s four arms, which made him quite a dangerous swordsman indeed. Of course, he also had a fierce temper and no gift at all for the study of magic, but all the daemonfey could call upon the infernal power of their heritage to rake their enemies with abyssal spells.

Xhalph carried the Gatekeeper’s Crystal in a small casket between his two lower arms. At his mother’s command he opened the small chest and offered her the weapon.

“Shall I use it, Mother?” he rumbled.

“No, dear boy. I will do this myself. The magic warding Nar Kerymhoarth is impenetrable, but the Gatekeeper’s Crystal can sunder any obstacle. I am curious to see which proves the stronger.”

Sarya carefully separated the crystal into its three component parts again. One she kept for herself. The other two pieces she gave to two of her fey’ri, who knelt before her.

“Now, listen closely,” she said to the fey’ri. “You two will each take your piece of the crystal and carry it about three hundred yards to each side, so that the three of us form a triangle surrounding Nar Kerymhoarth, with a third at each corner. When you are in position, I will activate the crystal. You are to hold your fragments steady, but do nothing else. I will wield the magic of the device.”

“Yes, my lady,” the two fey’ri said.

They each took their pieces and set off at once, arrowing through the overcast skies to alight high on the shoulders of the hill, overlooking the cleft in which Sarya and the others stood. The daemonfey queen eyed their positions carefully, then gestured for the fey’ri to separate a little more. Then, content with their placement, she focused her attention on the brilliant crystal in her taloned hands, and summoned forth its power.

Instantly, a blazing line of energy sprang into existence, linking each of the three pieces and forming a triangle of fire above Nar Kerymhoarth’s hilltop. Sarya recoiled, but maintained her hold on the gemstone. Despite its brilliance and the ravening power streaming from its depths, it remained cool to the touch and steady in her hand. The actinic light glared back at her from the hoary stone doorway, shadows snapping like banners