James Wyatt: Oath of Vigilance

“Perhaps you are right,” Vestapalk said. He drew a deep breath, the glowing mist from the pool billowing around his nostrils. “The Elder Eye stirs,” he said. “Dreamers hear his whispers in the night.”

Nu Alin met his eyes. “I have heard them, too.”

“It does not matter,” Vestapalk said, making an effort to lend his words a finality he almost believed. “This one is the Voidharrow, the plague, and the Plaguedeep.”

Nu Alin bowed deeply and turned away, leaving Vestapalk to his dreams.

Albanon glared up at the center of the vague circle of lighter gray in the overcast night sky. A gentle breeze, laced with a hint of winter’s approach, did nothing to stir the clouds from the face of the moon.

“Looks like there’ll be no passage this month,” said a voice at his shoulder. The halfling innkeeper, Cham, set another glass of wine down in front of Albanon. “Will you gentlemen be extending your stay at the Cloudwatch Inn, then?” He tucked his thumbs under the straps of his filthy apron and smiled first at Albanon and then at his companion.

Kri let out a slow breath and opened his eyes. “Some say it’s ill luck to disturb a priest from his prayers,” the old cleric said. Cham blanched and the smile dropped from his face. “The night’s not over yet,” Kri added.

“Those clouds aren’t moving, Kri,” Albanon said. “Cham is right. There’ll be no moonlight to open the Moon Door tonight. We’re stuck.” A bitter taste rose in his mouth. Another month’s delay meant another month that Vestapalk’s demons could spread the abyssal plague, another month that Shara and Uldane would be fighting the demons without his help. He glanced over his shoulder at the inn building that had already been their home for a month’s time. A few other stranded travelers sat on the porch nearby, watching the sky with an equal mixture of hope and irritation.

“I’ve also heard it said it’s not wise to pretend you know what the gods intend,” Kri said, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“The priest is right.” A tall man swathed in an emerald cloak settled into a seat at the next table and spoke loud enough for the other travelers on the porch to hear. “Blessed Sehanine will open the Moon Door if it pleases her to allow us into the Feywild.”

Albanon noticed the moon-shaped pin that fastened the man’s cloak, identifying him as a devotee of the moon god, one of the deities traditionally revered by the fey folk. Then the man pulled his hood back to reveal the long, pointed ears and opalescent eyes of an eladrin.

“They say Sehanine and Melora must agree to open the Moon Door,” Cham said. “ ‘Sehanine swells the light of the moon and Melora parts the veil of cloud.’ It seems to me it’s Melora we’re waiting on.”

“When you should be waiting on me, innkeeper,” the eladrin said. “Bring me a glass of whatever my kinsman there is drinking.” He pointed at Albanon’s untouched glass.

“Of course, good master. I apologize.” Cham bobbed in a bow and disappeared back inside.

“My name is Immeral,” the eladrin said, reaching a hand toward Albanon.

“Albanon.” He clasped Immeral’s hand in greeting, then turned back to his wine.

“Heading home?”

A flash of annoyance stung Albanon. He had left his family estate years ago to study magic with a human wizard, Moorin. Now Moorin was dead, but the old wizard’s tower had become his home. The thought of returning to his family had never seriously occurred to him. “No,” he said after a moment. “My friend and I have other business in the Feywild.” On his shoulder, Splendid roused enough from her sleep to give an irritated chirp. Moorin’s pseudodragon was not at all pleased with Albanon’s plan to accompany Kri into the Feywild, and she had made her displeasure known frequently and loudly over the course of the last month.

Kri extended his hand to the eladrin as well. “I’m Kri Redshal,” he said.

Immeral shook Kri’s hand but never shifted his attention from Albanon. “In Celduilon?” he asked. Celduilon was the eladrin city closest to the other side of the Moon Door, and the most common destination for travelers from Moonstair. A longer journey through the Feywild was not something most mortals undertook lightly.

“No,” Albanon said, glancing at Kri. The priest’s frown was barely noticeable, but Albanon got the message. He didn’t trust Immeral’s curiosity. He fingered his wine glass, trying to decide how to deflect the eladrin’s questions. “Our business …”

“Our business is nothing anyone else would find interesting in the least,” Kri interjected, smiling broadly and shifting his chair closer to Immeral’s line of sight. “But what of you, my friend? No doubt you’re returning home to Celduilon.”

Albanon saw a look of annoyance flit across Immeral’s face, but the eladrin wrenched his mouth into a polite smile as he turned to Kri. “My home is not within the city, but yes. My lord’s business has kept me in Moonstair for entirely too long, and I am eager to rest in my own chambers tonight, Sehanine permit it.”

Albanon stared into the overcast sky again, grateful to Kri for distracting Immeral’s attention. He’d rarely spoken to another eladrin since leaving years ago, and he found the subject of his Feywild home distinctly uncomfortable. Kri led Immeral through a conversational labyrinth, to a range of topics safely distant from their business in the Feywild, and Albanon lost himself in the play of moonlight filtering through the shifting blanket of thick clouds.

He was dimly aware of the two men discussing the history of Moonstair when he realized what he was seeing. “The clouds are parting!” he blurted, interrupting Kri’s discourse on some ancient troll kingdom in the region. The moonlight was growing brighter, and as he glanced at the river he saw colored lights beginning to shift and swirl in the air over the rocky island that held the Moon Door. “The door is opening!”

His words sparked a bustle of excited activity on the porch and inside the inn as travelers gathered their belongings, settled their accounts, and said their farewells. Albanon lifted his pack to his shoulder, dislodging Splendid, who took to the air in a flurry of wings before settling back on top of his pack. He swallowed the last of his wine and hurried after Kri to reach the portal before it closed once more.

“You’re determined to go through with this, then?” Splendid said in his ear.

“Nothing has changed, Splendid. Moorin would have wanted me to do this.”

“Moorin was content to stay safe in his tower and teach you there. I still don’t understand how you can let it lie vacant like this. That tower should be yours.”

“If it’s mine, I can choose what to do with it. I’ll go back to it eventually. You’re free to wait for me there.”

“And eat what? The rats that are certainly crawling all over the place now?”

Albanon smiled. “Well, someone has to get rid of them.”

“I am not a mouser!”

“Oh, well, I’m sure you’re good for something.”

Splendid hissed and fell silent on his pack, sulking.

A gravel pathway led from the inn’s porch around the small keep that served as the mayor’s home and out to the series of rocky islets that gave the town of Moonstair its name. As they reached the rushing water of the river, the face of the moon appeared full and bright in the sky, and the aurora over the river blossomed into a riotous explosion of color.

Albanon helped Kri jump from one islet to the next until they reached the rocky slope of the last island. A well-worn path took them to a tiny plateau encircled by a ring of moss and dotted with flowers that retained their spring bloom despite the autumn chill. Silver and blue light danced in sheets and ribbons through the air above the faerie ring like a cascade of moonlight spilling from the sky. Where the light touched the ground at the center of the ring, it formed the faint outline of a doorway, the Moon Door.