Richard Baker: Prince of Ravens

The dark elves did not seem overly impressed. The noblewoman Dresimil glanced at her brothers, who gave small shrugs. “Are we supposed to be familiar with that name?” she asked Jack.

“Myrkyssa Jelan? General of the great horde that attacked Raven’s Bluff a few years ago? Imposter who posed as the Lady Mayor?” Jack detected not the slightest glimmer of recognition in his hosts’ eyes. Perhaps it was not so surprising; dark elves might have no particular interest in events on the surface, he supposed. With a small gesture of indulgence and a patient smile, he added, “We are not far from the surface city of Raven’s Bluff. Myrkyssa Jelan is, or was, the most capable and dangerous adversary Raven’s Bluff has ever encountered. When her attempt to conquer the city failed, she took a new identity, and seized through subterfuge what force of arms had failed to win. In the guise of Lady Amber Lynn Thoden, she ruled over the city for a year before her duplicity was uncovered.”

“I don’t expect that you would know how she came to be in our mythal stone, do you?” the more serious-looking of the two mages-Jezzryd, if Jack had followed the introductions correctly-asked.

“Oh, I put her there,” Jack answered. “She was engaged in using the stone for a spell to break her curse of unmagic and make her a great sorcerer again. My comrades and I successfully foiled her plot.” He held up his hand ruefully, showing his bare fingers. “I have a magic ring of stone command, which now seems to be missing. I employed it to push her into the wild mythal, imprisoning her there.”

Jezzryd scowled fiercely. “You sabotaged our ancient mythal stone by transmuting some surface-world freebooter into its substance, and simply left it like that?”

“In all honesty, I had no idea there were any dark elves about who still laid claim to the stone. It was at the bottom of a lake, after all.” It was possible the dark elves might not regard ignorance of such things as an excuse; Jack decided to deflect the blame. He pointed at the perfect statue of the Warlord and added, “Jelan was the one who chose the mythal for her ritual. If I hadn’t stopped her when I did, there’s no telling what harm might have come to your people’s ancient works. I must say, I’m proud to have played a small part in preserving something of such obvious historical significance.”

Dresimil studied the Warlord’s statue for a moment longer, and then turned back to Jack. “Did you say your lands lie in the Vilhon Reach, Lord Wildhame?”

“Why, yes,” Jack replied. A sudden nasty suspicion crossed his mind, and he added, “Are you perchance familiar with the nobility and domains of the Vilhon?”

Lady Dresimil allowed herself a small smile. “Not particularly. Then again, I doubt that many are in this day.”

A strange turn of phrase, Jack observed. “Well, it is to be expected,” he continued. “The Vilhon Reach is a very long way from here, and of course there are many easily confused baronies, counties, marks, and such things in my homeland. One would have to be an expert in heraldry or exceptionally well-traveled to have heard of the Wildhame demesnes.”

“On the contrary, one would have to be a historian,” remarked the second brother-Jaeren, Jack supposed. The three drow enjoyed a soft laugh; Jack uncomfortably joined in, wondering what the joke was.

“Clearly, he has been in the stone for quite some time,” said Jezzryd. “This would seem to confirm the premise I just advanced.”

“I am afraid I don’t understand,” Jack replied. “What do you mean when you say I’ve been ‘in the stone’? Is it perhaps a drowish idiom that translates poorly into the common tongue?”

The three drow ignored him for a moment, exchanging a few quick, soft words in their native language. It reminded Jack of Elvish, although he couldn’t follow it. Then Dresimil returned her attention to him. “What year do you believe this to be?” she asked.

“The fact that you have asked that question makes me much less certain of the answer than I thought I was,” Jack muttered. “This is, of course, the Year of the Bent Blade, also known as the thirteen hundred and seventy-sixth in the reckoning of the Dales. Or am I somehow mistaken?”

“Significantly so,” Dresimil answered. “You see, this is now the Year of the Ageless One, which I believe is the fourteen hundred and seventy-ninth by the surface calendars. I regret to inform you”-and Dresimil’s cruel smile suggested that she did not regret it much at all-“that among the many other things that have occurred since the Year of the Bent Blade, the lands of the Vilhon Reach were largely destroyed by the effects of the Spellplague about nine years after you were imprisoned. It is highly likely that Wildhame, wherever it was, is no more.”

Jack gave a small, nervous laugh. “My lady is armed with a very imaginative sense of humor, I see. Or perhaps there is some discrepancy between the drow calendar and that in common use elsewhere?”

Dresimil raised an eyebrow. “No, I am quite certain that my people and the surface dwellers agree on what year it is. What a fascinating circumstance you must find this. Humans are not a very long-lived race; while imprisoned you have likely outlived everyone you ever knew. Your enemies are dead, and their descendants do not even suspect you exist. Why, think of the delicious acts of vengeance one could exact in such a situation.”

Jack’s knees felt weak, and he reached out to steady himself on the nearby shoulder of the petrified Myrkysa Jelan. If these drow were not playing some convoluted jest on him … could it truly be that a century had passed him by? He glanced again at the stone and the plaza surrounding it. A hundred feet or more of water should have covered the entire site, and yet the lake was nowhere to be seen. “You still have not made clear what you mean when you say that I was in the stone,” he said.

The dark elves shared another laugh at Jack. One of the twins shook his head. “It means that we just removed you from that stone you’re standing beneath, you idiot. Or, to be more precise, the spells we were weaving to repair the mythal undid a spell of encystment we hadn’t perceived. You and your adversary emerged from the stone more or less where you now stand. She appears to have been petrified, but you were not; you fell to the ground, which is how this entire conversation began. Or has that already escaped your faulty memory?”

“Wait a moment,” Jack protested. “You mean to say that someone imprisoned me in the mythal stone, and now a hundred years have passed? But who would do such a thing? Why did no one retrieve me before now? This situation is intolerable! There is much to be set right.”

“I doubt that we will get much more out of Lord Wildhame,” Jezzryd said to his brother and sister. “He cannot explain how he came to be in the mythal, and whatever he knows is a century out of date in any case. The question now is what to do with him.”

“The quarry?” Jaeren mused. “The foreman was begging me for new drudges just this morning. It’s hard to keep up his numbers given the nature of the work.”

“He seems rather small of stature for rock-breaking,” Dresimil said. “Foreman Barzash would not thank you for providing him with unsuitable laborers.”

“A porter, then. If goblins can manage an eighty-pound pack, surely he can. In no time at all he’d be just as stooped and bandy-legged as they are.”

Jack was still grappling with his astonishment at the entire situation, but he belatedly realized that he had a very definite interest in the outcome of the dark elves’ deliberations. It seemed that he needed to change the topic of this conversation at once if he didn’t care to be condemned to a lifetime of toil in the Underdark. “Ah, that is all very interesting, but I am not sure that I agree that I am indebted to you for any amount of servitude, physical or otherwise,” he said. “I have not caused you any great inconvenience, and you will be relieved to learn that I hold nothing against you for interrupting my restful repose in yon stone. The entire affair is resolved equably; we shall go our separate ways, enriched by a fascinating anecdote. If you could perchance direct me to the elevator-stone that ascends to the dungeons of Sarbreen, I will trouble you no more.”