Richard Baker - Final Gate

They reached the small town of Tegal’s Mark shortly before sunset, riding down out of the dusty hills into a fair green valley of apple orchards and small stone farmhouses. Tasseldale had not yet suffered much from the daemonfey, but that did not mean the war had bypassed the place. The town was ringed by the patchwork tents and shelters of Sembia’s battered army, with many hundreds of men bivouacked in the fields and orchards nearby. More soldiers filled the dirt streets of the town. And all around the soldiers’ camps sprawled the simple shelters and crowded wagons of refugees from Battledale, Mistledale, and the lands between.

Teren and his Blue Griffons led them into the town itself, threading their way through the narrow lanes with some difficulty. They finally halted by a fine-looking inn near the middle of the town. The signboard read simply “The Markhouse.”

“I’ll arrange quarters for you here,” the bannerman said. “You can wait here until Lord Selkirk sends for you.”

“We thank you, bannerman,” Ilsevele said.

“I am afraid that you will have to remain here until we tell you otherwise, Lady Miritar. If you or any of your folk need to go out, you’ll have to be escorted. We wouldn’t want any misunderstandings.”

Ilsevele nodded. “We understand.”

The young officer nodded. “In that case, I’ll see to your rooms, and notify the Silver Ravens that you are here and wish to speak with Lord Selkirk.” He dismounted, handed his reins to another of the Blue Griffons, and touched his brow before striding into the Markhouse.

Fflar studied the inn. It seemed strong and well-built, which might be important if they had to fight in or around the place. He glanced back at the street behind them, noting the ways that led out of the town. With care, it might just be barely possible to get out from under the Sembians’ hands if they needed to.

He felt eyes upon him, and looked up at a window in the upper floor of the Markhouse. A dark-haired human girl of striking beauty stood there, gazing coldly down on the elves in the courtyard. She regarded him with no expression at all for a long moment, and moved away from the window.

“We’re in danger here,” he said quietly.

“I know, but I mean to carry on as if I expect nothing but good faith,” Ilsevele replied. “Still, I didn’t expect to be put under house arrest.”

“That’s the trouble with crossing an enemy’s lines under a flag of truce. You may find it harder to get out than it was to get in.” Fflar smiled crookedly at her. “How long do we wait before we go looking for this Selkirk ourselves?”

“I’ll give him two days,” Ilsevele said. “After that, we’ll see.”

Absolute lightlessness greeted Araevin on the far side of the portal, a darkness so complete that for one panicked moment he wondered if the portal had somehow hurled him into solid stone. He inhaled sharply-the air was very cold and dry-and staggered into an awkward crouch, fearful that he might blunder over some unseen precipice in the dark. His own sudden breath was the only thing he could hear in the blackness. Cold, rough rock greeted his fingertips, and he reassured himself that he was simply standing in an unlit cavern of some kind.

“Courage, Araevin,” he murmured.

He fished a small copper coin out of his belt pouch by feel, and pronounced a simple light spell on it. The copper piece began to glow with a bright yellow radiance, dispelling the darkness around him so that Araevin could see where he stood.

As he had suspected, it was a cavern of some kind-a long, winding passageway that seemed to follow the bottom of a crevice, for the walls simply leaned against each other about twenty feet overhead. He turned to look at the portal behind him, and found that it was set in a square alcove hewn out of the living rock. Its rectangular lintel was carved with geometric designs that reminded Araevin of dwarven work. He examined the strange runes with interest, but before he could make much out of them, shadows filled the space within the lintel and parted suddenly. Maresa stepped through, rapier in one hand and crossbow in the other.

“Where in the Nine Hells-” she began, but then she remembered to move away from the door. She took several quick strides into the tunnel, making room for Nesterin, Donnor, and Jorin to follow her through. Araevin held his magical light aloft, and kept watch over the passageway while the rest of his companions joined him.

“We’re somewhere in the Underdark, aren’t we?” said Donnor. One thick hand rested on the hilt of the broadsword at his belt.

“I think so,” Araevin replied. He murmured the words of a seeking spell, and frowned as the magic seemed to fray awkwardly beneath his subtle shaping. Faerzress, he remembered. The weird magical energy permeating the deep Underdark sometimes interfered with spellcasting. At the last moment he rallied and managed to finish the spell despite the strange interference.

The silent call of the second shard echoed from the darkness, somewhere not far off. “The Gatekeeper was right. We’re close to the second shard,” he told his friends.

“Thank Tymora for that, at least,” Maresa muttered.

“Have any of you traveled in the Underdark before?” Araevin asked.

“I have, a little,” said Jorin. “There are extensive caverns and passages under the Yuirwood, at least in places.” He shivered. “I don’t remember it being this cold, though.”

“I traveled through the upper reaches of Deep Shanatar two years ago,” Donnor said. The Tethyrian grimaced. “I can’t say I liked it much.”

“Until today, I’d succeeded in avoiding the place,” Maresa answered. Her pale hair hung still around her shoulders, unstirred by even the faintest breeze. In the depths of the earth, the magic of elemental air in her veins guttered as low as a dying candle-flame. “My mother never had anything nice to say about it. She told me plenty of stories of the horrors the Company of the White Star encountered down here.”

“I remember well,” Araevin said. It had been more than twenty years since he had ventured into the vast warrens beneath the Chionthar Vale with Belmora, Theleda, Grayth, and the rest, but he had not forgotten a moment of it. “Let’s make sure that we all have light close at hand. If you get separated from everyone else, you’ll want illumination.”

They searched through their packs, and shared out the candles and tinder kits they carried. Donnor had a half-dozen sunrods, and divided those as well. Of course, Araevin and Donnor had minor light spells they could call on, too.

“We’ll use our spells first, and save the sunrods for an emergency,” Araevin suggested. “Now, as for the Underdark… above all else, we must stay together. This place is vast and featureless. Sound plays tricks on your ears, so that you may think a distant voice is close by, and someone only a stone’s throw away might not be able to hear you even if you shout. I can’t warn you enough about how easy it is to get lost, and how hard it is to be found once you’re out of sight and earshot.

“You’ll find that this place is more hostile than the worst desert you can imagine. We may get lucky and find fresh water, but food is almost nonexistent. We must conserve our rations and our water carefully, for as long as we are down here.

“Finally, this place is home to dreadful monsters such as aboleths, mind flayers, beholders, and worse. Many are drawn by light and sound, so we should try to stay quiet and use as little light as we can.”

“Anything else?” Maresa asked, rolling her eyes.

The sun elf frowned, taking her question literally. “Oh, one more thing-we can’t count on teleporting. There are magical emanations in the rock all around us that often ruin teleport spells. It should be our very last resort. Once we leave this portal, we have no easy way back to the surface unless we retrace our steps to this spot, or stumble across another portal somewhere else.”