Richard Baker - Farthest Reach

Threat, or opportunity?

“Very well, Perestrom. I agree that this merits more investigation.” Scyllua lifted her unfocused gaze to the wizard’s eyes until Perestrom looked away, his self-assurance not quite up to the intensity of her attention. “I will speak to Lord Fzoul about this, and we will consider how our ignorance might be amended.”

Ilsevele left Araevin to continue his researches by himself, spending her time in the company of Maresa and Filsaelene. She said that she simply wanted more time to wander Silverymoon’s tree-shaded streets and explore its odd shops, quaint markets, and famed universities, but Araevin could read her silent disapproval well enough. He promised himself that he would set aside his work for a time and join her in taking in Silverymoon’s sights, but first he wanted to see what he could find out about star elves and the long-dead mage named Morthil, who had helped Ithraides destroy the Dlardrageths in Arcorar five thousand years ago.

On the morning of his fifth day in the Vault, and his second alone, Araevin found himself striding from reading room to reading room in search of Calwern, anxious to locate the next manuscript on his ever-growing list. He glanced out the leaded glass windows that marched along the hall, noting the bright spring sunshine outside and the soft and distant sound of the breeze caressing the branches of the stately old shadowtops sheltering the Vault’s windows, when he felt the cold, tingling presence of strange magic arise within his mind.

Araevin recoiled, dropping the sheaf of paper he carried and whirling to search the empty halls around him. Faint whispers of distant magic coiled in his mind, and he felt a presence forming, a sense of grim competence behind it.

He started to speak the words of an arcane defense, but then he felt a familiar visage behind the magic, a stern face with a thin beard of black and gray, features somewhere between an elf’s and a human’s.

“A sending,” he murmured, feeling more than a little foolish. He relaxed and focused his attention on the message.

Araevin, this is Jorildyn, spoke the distant voice in his mind. We have found portals under Myth Glaurach. Starbrow suspects the daemonfey built them. Can you come and investigate?

The magic of the sending lingered, awaiting his response. Araevin frowned, considering Jorildyn’s message.

I will be there in a few days, he replied. Contact me again if you need me to be there any sooner.

Then Jorildyn’s sending faded, its magic expended by Araevin’s response.

He glanced up at the bright spring sunshine filling the old library, and fought off a shudder. Portals… of course, he thought. But where do they lead? Sarya and her followers might easily have made their escape through the magical doorways. A portal might lead anywhere-a forgotten dungeon, an undead-haunted tomb, the sunless depths of the Underdark, even a network of other portals — anywhere. And without the proper key, it might prove impossible to pursue Sarya and her followers at all. Araevin had certainly studied enough of the magical gateways to know that.

“Master Teshurr, are you well?” Calwern asked. The Deneirrath cleric hurried into the hallway, his kind old face anxious with concern.

“Yes. Forgive me-I just received a sending,” Araevin said, coming back to the library with a start. “I am afraid I must go.”

“Is there anything we can do for you?”

“No, my friend, I think I must leave Silverymoon.”

“I see. Do you know when you will return?” Calwern asked.

“A couple of tendays, I hope?” Araevin stooped and picked up the lists he had dropped, quickly setting them back in order again. “While I am gone, will you have your sages look into these sources for me? I will come back soon and see what you and your colleagues have learned.”

“Of course.” Calwern took the papers, bowed, and touched his brow and heart in the elven manner. In Elvish he said, “Sweet water and light laughter until we meet again, then.”

“And to you,” Araevin replied.

He returned the cleric’s parting, then hurried out of the Vault of the Sages, making his way to the Golden Oak.

In the middle of the day, the inn yard was almost empty, the tables beneath the great oak tree deserted and silent. He found his way to the room Ilsevele and he shared. She was not there, nor were Maresa and Filsaelene in their own rooms, so Araevin began to pack up his belongings, making ready to leave. He settled the account with the innkeeper for all of them, and he waited for his companions.

Not long before dusk, Ilsevele, Maresa, and Filsaelene returned to the inn, tired but in good spirits after another day of wandering Silverymoon’s streets and markets. Araevin stirred himself from a shallow Reverie as they bustled into the room, laughing at some jest or another.

“Good evening,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“You’re an elf, you’re good at it,” Maresa observed. She grinned at her own wit. “In fact, we can go back out again for a while, if you’d like.”

Ilsevele glanced at his pack and staff by the door, and the soft smile faded from her perfect features. She looked back to Araevin, her expression guarded.

“What’s happened?” she asked.

“I’ve heard news of the daemonfey, I think.” Araevin stood. “Starbrow had Jorildyn speak to me in a sending. Your father’s warriors have found some portals hidden beneath Myth Glaurach, and Starbrow suspects that the daemonfey might have built them or used them for their own purposes. He asked me to examine the portals. I told him I would come within a few days.”

“Portals? Leading where?” Maresa demanded. “More troll-haunted forests, or monster-plagued caves? I’ve had enough of portals, thank you.”

“I won’t know where they lead until I see them for myself,” Araevin said. He looked at his companions, and gestured at the inn room. “Starbrow asked for me, and I intend to go. But there’s no need for you to leave Silverymoon, if you would prefer to stay.”

“I’ll come,” Ilsevele said at once. “My father’s fight against the daemonfey is my fight, too, and my place is with you.”

Araevin nodded. He hadn’t really expected anything other than that from her, even after their argument in the Vault.

“It may be nothing,” he said. “But, if Starbrow has stumbled onto the trail of the daemonfey, it might be more than a little dangerous to follow them. I might stumble into the middle of Sarya’s audience chamber again. Or they may set magical traps or monstrous guardians to discourage pursuit.”

“You are going to attempt those portals, regardless of the danger,” Ilsevele observed. “I will, too.”

“Why do they need you for this task, Araevin?” Filsaelene asked. “Aren’t there dozens of skilled mages with Seiveril and Starbrow at Myth Glaurach?”

“Yes, there are, but Araevin’s made a special study of portal magic over the last few years,” Ilsevele answered for him. “He knows as much about portals as any mage in Faerun by now.”

“When are you leaving?” Filsaelene asked.

“Tonight or tomorrow morning,” Araevin said. “I can make arrangements for you to remain here as long as you like, Filsaelene. I don’t want to turn you out in the street. You too, Maresa.”

Filsaelene frowned, her eyes dark and thoughtful. “No, I think I would like to come with you. If your business with the daemonfey isn’t finished yet, the least I can do is help you finish it. If you hadn’t found me when you did, I doubt that Sarya would have left me alive in that dungeon when she abandoned Myth Glaurach.”

“You don’t owe us any debt, Filsaelene,” Ilsevele said. “We would have aided anybody in your circumstances.”