Richard Baker - Farthest Reach

“I was wondering where you were,” he said. “I was about to have Jorildyn cast another sending for you.”

“It’s a long ride from Silverymoon,” Ilsevele replied. She wrung out the hem of her cloak, leaving a puddle of cold water on the floor, and glared at Starbrow. “You had better have a good reason for sending for us.”

Vesilde Gaerth raised his hand in greeting. “Mage Teshurr, Lady Ilsevele, welcome back! I am glad to see you. Not to speak for Captain Starbrow, but I think we have a sound reason for seeking Araevin’s expertise. Our mages have had no luck with opening the portals the daemonfey left behind.”

“I’ll have a look first thing in the morning,” Araevin promised. “Right now we’re all tired, cold, and wet, and I wouldn’t say no to a hot meal and a mug of mulled wine, if anything like that can be found around here.”

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a tenday,” Maresa added.

“Of course. I’ll see if our quartermasters can find something for you.”

Vesilde called for an aide, who then headed off in search of some food and good accommodations for Araevin and his companions.

“We heard that my father went to Evermeet,” Ilsevele asked Starbrow. “Do you know when he will return?”

“Three or four days, most likely. He said there was one more council meeting he wanted to attend before he came back-but if you find something in the portals, he’ll return at once.”

Araevin and his friends dined with Vesilde and Starbrow, listening to the commanders’ accounts of the Crusade’s fruitless search for any sign of the daemonfey and the discovery of the hidden portals in Sarya’s buried vaults. Then they were shown to an old ruined chapel, its long-vanished roof replaced by well-secured canvas to make a reasonably warm and dry room in which to camp.

In the dark hours before dawn, Araevin roused himself from Reverie, found his spellbooks, and chose a small alcove of the old temple to illuminate with a pale light spell while he studied his spells of portal lore. When the sun came up, he joined the others for a breakfast of dried fruit and porridge provided by the quartermasters of the army.

“Arm yourselves for battle,” Araevin told them after they ate. “If we try our luck with an unknown portal, we might step through into the fight of our lives.”

While they were arming themselves, Starbrow appeared in the chapel’s old doorway. He wore a long green cloak over his shoulders with Keryvian belted to his waist, and he carried a large rucksack. The moon elf looked them over, and grinned.

“You certainly look ready,” he said.

Araevin looked at Starbrow in surprise. “You’re coming with us?”

“Unless you tell me not to.”

“Aren’t you needed here?” Ilsevele asked. “My father left the army in your hands, after all.”

“Actually, he left Lord Gaerth in command. I’m just his second. Besides, we’ve been sitting here for days. If there’s even the slightest chance that we might sniff out the daemonfey, I want to be a part of it.”

“I’ve seen his work with that sword of his,” Maresa observed to Filsaelene. The genasi set her hands on her hips, her crimson leather armor gleaming darkly. “I’m not going to tell him we don’t need him.”

“Very well,” Araevin answered. “Let’s have a look at these portals you found. It may be a short trip if I can’t open them.”

Starbrow laughed out loud, then he led the small company into the streets of Myth Glaurach. A short walk brought them to the onetime palace of the city’s rulers. It was an impressive ruin, with great gaping arches and broken towers reaching to the gray skies.

“The grand mage’s palace,” Starbrow said. “The daemonfey used it as their stronghold.”

They climbed up the shattered steps to the open foyer, passed through into a courtyard within the overgrown walls, and there found a stone stairway deep in the palace, descending into the darkness below. Araevin frowned, and steeled himself. He knew all too well the vaults and passages beneath the palace, as did his companions.

Starbrow’s soldiers had illuminated the dark passageway with small lanterns, and they followed the string of lanternlit hallways and stairs as they descended deeper and deeper into the cold rock of the hillside. They passed several contingents of guards, vigilant elves who stood watch in case some undetected evil emerged from a hidden depth of Sarya’s dungeons.

“Have you had any trouble down here?” Araevin asked.

“We’ve found a couple of magical traps-spell glyphs, symbols, things like that,” Starbrow replied. “But we haven’t found any fey’ri assassins lurking in the cellars, or demongates to the Abyss, or dragon lairs, or anything truly dangerous. I think Sarya simply didn’t have the time to cover her tracks as well as she might have liked.”

The moon elf turned aside into a long, narrow gallery that Araevin recognized from his cursory exploration of the place a few tendays ago. Statues of grim-looking gargoyles crouched near the ceiling, leering down at them. The gallery ended in a blank stone wall, a single featureless block contained within a stone lintel carved in the shape of a winding vine climbing a trellis.

“Here it is,” Starbrow said.

“That’s not daemonfey work,” Araevin said at once. He pointed at the decorative stonework. “They have no use for carvings like that.”

Starbrow looked sharply at him. “You mean this is a dead end?”

“No, I didn’t say that. There’s no reason that Sarya and her vultures couldn’t have used a portal like this.”

Araevin studied it, searching for any markings or lettering to read.

“Can you open it?” Filsaelene asked.

“Possibly,” Araevin replied. “Let me try a spell first.”

He whispered the words of a simple detection spell, and carefully examined the flickering auras that glimmered around the ancient doorway.

“It has the right sort of magic,” he decided. “And it’s certainly strong and well-woven enough to have lasted for quite a long time.”

He spoke another spell, one that would divine many of the secrets of the portal. In his eyes the magical Weave ghosted into existence, bright and many-colored, each strand hinting at work done well and carefully long ago.

“It’s a keyed portal,” he said.

“Which means?” Starbrow asked.

“It won’t open unless we take the right action or present the right device-a token of some kind, a password, some specific thing that would keep just anybody from opening the doorway.”

Araevin examined the blank gateway for a few minutes longer, and he began to chant the words of a longer and more difficult spell, seeking to wrest from the portal itself the knowledge of what key would activate it.

He finished the spell, and in his mind’s eye he caught a glimpse of a small white flower, a tiny bell only the size of a thumbnail, really.

“That makes sense,” Araevin said with a soft laugh. “What? Have you figured it out already?” Starbrow said.

“It’s only a matter of knowing the right spells. They’re somewhat rare, and I suppose not all that many wizards have studied them.” Araevin straightened, and reached out to tap the carving of the vine surrounding the doorway. “This vine-it is rellana, isn’t it?”

Starbrow and the others exchanged blank looks, but Ilsevele nodded.

“Yes,” she said. “I think it is.”

“That’s all we need. Each of us must carry a petal of a rellana blossom and speak a short password- nesyie alleisendilie — and the portal will activate.”

“I’ll send for some,” Starbrow said at once. He quickly trotted out of sight and called out to the nearby guards. In a few minutes, he returned with a handful of tiny white blossoms. “Here you go,” he said. “What would they do if they needed to use the portal and these weren’t in bloom?”