Richard Baker - Prince of Ravens

“Should we make for the platform again?”

“Not this time, my dear. Your father brought a small army down here to deal with the dark elves once and for all. If he isn’t storming Tower Chumavhraele, he will be soon; I think we’ll be able to find him there.”

They reached Malmor’s paddocks, and Jack motioned for Seila to wait. He peered around in the gloom, looking for any sign of Narm. The half-orc was nowhere in sight; Jack frowned, but told himself that it was possible that he’d been forced to retreat in some inconvenient direction. He was just about to move on again when he finally caught a glimpse of a tall, broad-shouldered figure trotting up along the trail behind them. Narm was limping, and blood ran freely from a shallow cut across his forehead, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.

“Seila, this is Narm,” Jack said. “He is the leader of the Blue Wyvern adventuring company. Narm, this is Seila Norwood.”

“A pleasure,” the half-orc said gruffly. He looked at Jack with a scowl. “Next time, you create the distraction and I’ll sneak up to free the girl.”

“I am sorry you were hurt on my behalf, Master Narm,” Seila said. “I am truly grateful for your help.”

Narm looked down at the ground and gave a small shrug. “It was nothing, m’lady,” he mumbled.

“Let us press on,” Jack suggested. He led the way back toward the tower, listening closely for any sounds of fighting and peering cautiously into the shadows of each mushroom-stalk and boulder they approached-the last thing he wanted to do was to blunder into a battle. The road between pastures and tower seemed deserted for the moment. The black battlements loomed over them, still adorned with their eerie globes of witch-light and faerie fire. Jack could hear fighting within the walls, but no one was in sight atop the ramparts.

Seila paused suddenly at his side, pulling on his hand with hers. “What is that?” she murmured.

Jack glanced back at her, and saw that she was gazing up at the cavern ceiling. A flickering aurora of emerald energy danced in the high air of the great cavern, organizing itself in great spirals orbiting above a central point some distance away from them. “The wild mythal,” Jack said. “The drow intend to use its magic against your father’s soldiers, I wager.”

“It’s growing stronger.” Seila pointed, and Jack realized that she was right; a visible thread of energy lanced straight up from the cavern floor toward the swirling aurora above them. Moment by moment, the thread seemed to grow a little brighter, a little more substantial, driving back the eternal darkness of the Underdark.

“So it is,” he agreed. That did not seem like a good sign, to say the least. The mythal spell was evolving in front of them, and Jack could feel the subtle currents of its magic shifting and flowing in response. “Come along. I’d like to see what Elana and our mages make of this.”

They came to the castle’s gatehouse. The gates stood open, and whole companies of armsmen from Raven’s Bluff-some in the uniform of the city’s army, others wearing the colors of various noble houses-seemed to be engaged in occupying the castle. There was no sign of Jelan, the Moon Daggers, or the Blue Wyverns, but in the middle of a band of twenty or thirty captains, banner-bearers, and Norwood bodyguards stood Marden Norwood himself. The silver-haired lord stood just outside the courtyard, watching as the captains of the city’s assault force directed the taking of Tower Chumavhraele. Jack could see human, dwarf, and elf soldiers storming the doorways and halls of the drow castle; shouts and the clatter of steel rang from the depths of the fortress.

“Father!” cried Seila. She ran up to embrace the old lord. “How did you get here?”

“Seila, my lass!” Norwood swept Seila into his arms and hugged her close. “I feared that something terrible had happened to you!”

“It almost did,” Seila answered. “Balathorp tried to spirit me away before your army arrived, but Jack here-and his friend, Narm-tracked him down and rescued me.”

Norwood’s eyebrows rose. He looked at Jack, and after a long moment gave him a grudging nod of respect. “Well done, Jack. I am once again in your debt.”

Jack nodded back. There was no particular reason to mention the Sarkonagael business if it had momentarily slipped Norwood’s mind, he decided. “What happened here?” he asked. “We left Elana and her company at the gatehouse when we set out after Balathorp.”

“We broke the drow lines when we finally pushed them out of the tunnel and into the open cavern,” Norwood replied. “They fell back on the castle, but Elana and her warriors held the gate open just long enough for my soldiers to storm the place on the heels of the remaining dark elves. We have them, I think.”

“You must have half the army here,” said Seila.

“Six companies of it,” the old lord replied. “That was the most I could persuade the Noble Council to release, given the possibility that there might be other enemies like Balathorp ready to move if we stripped our defenses. However, I also have armsmen of six or seven noble houses here, too. It’s time to put an end to this.” He glanced at the soldiers securing the castle. “I am sorry that it took us so long. It took a couple of hours to gather the troops, and it was a half-day’s march through the tunnels to find our way to this cavern.”

“Where are Elana and the others?” Jack asked.

“They pursued a small party of dark elves who escaped the castle when our assault began.” Norwood pointed toward the flickering green column of eldritch energy. “The drow fled into the old ruined city, and that started up soon afterward. Do you know what it is?”

“The wild mythal of their ancient city,” Jack replied. “I think Dresimil means to turn its power against you. Send all of the soldiers you can spare-we can’t let her have it to herself.” Jack clapped Narm on his arm. “Come, friend Narm, and let’s see if we can find our companions again. They might have need of us.”

The half-orc shrugged. “As long as you realize that someone must pay for all this.”

“Wait,” said Seila. “I am coming, as well.”

“Absolutely not,” Norwood said. “Seila, stay with me. You will be safer with our soldiers around you.”

“Please, do as your father says,” Jack said. “I will feel better knowing that you are as safe as you can be in this place.”

Seila bridled and started to protest, but reluctantly she nodded. “Very well. But be careful yourself, Jack.”

Norwood clasped Jack’s hand firmly, and then Jack and Narm hurried back out of the castle. They turned right, and Jack led the way as they struck out across the cavern floor, making their way in a roundabout direction toward the excavations by the lakeshore. Jack led the way with more haste than caution; Dresimil’s warriors were busy, and he thought that patrols in Chumavhraele’s cavern were likely to be few and far between at the moment. In a quarter-hour, the faint outlines of the rambling walls and mud-filled towers of the long-drowned drow city loomed ahead in the gloom. No slaves were at work in the ruins; Jack guessed that the dark elves had most of the workers locked in their pens while so many of their soldiers were busy fighting elsewhere. They slowed their pace and quietly groped their way through the maze of muddy streets and crumbling buildings.

Even without the flickering shaft of emerald light to guide them, Jack could have picked out the wild mythal’s bearing and set a straight course for the stone. He trotted as swiftly as he dared through the ancient streets, Narm at his side. They passed through the broken archway of an old city gate, crossed a square of fluted columns arranged in different heights and numbers, and came to a broad boulevard leading straight toward the plaza at the heart of the city. In silence they stole forward, until Jack spied the ruined shell of a palace or temple that would let them reach the plaza unobserved. He slipped inside through a gloomy doorway and made his way closer until he could peer through a hole in the outer wall at the old mythal.