Chapter Nine
"I have heard tales of such abominations in my travels," the grizzled druid told Lamorak, sometime later when the Third Prince had recovered enough to pick himself up off the dusty floor and limp slowly over to where the remains of the foul beast were slowly congealing and eating through the stone. "Manifestations of strong negative emotions left behind in the wake of some awful tragedy, embodying rage, or greed, or envy. This is the first time I have seen one with my own eyes, however."
Lamorak gazed down at the sickly grayish-black substance that was all that remained of the hellish creature which he could only assume was responsible for the deaths of all the unfortunate drow they had encountered far above, his nose wrinkled with disgust and his eyes dark and pitiless. He did not consider himself a spiteful man by any means, but in that moment he could not bring himself to regret spitting on the aberration's corpse. "We can only speculate what happened to the Imaskari artificers who once lived here," he began thoughtfully, "but if the fate that befell them was at all similar to the wrath that the aspects of Ptah brought with them when they swept down the Godswatch Mountains, we can assume that fate was not a good one. Likely Ptah's minions ransacked Metos and killed all those within, and the betrayal and suffering of the Imaskari manifested into this monster."
"I would argue that it's a blessing in disguise that we happened upon it," admitted Lamorak's unlikely companion, his tone begrudging yet resigned. "I do not know how far or for how long we fell, but the beast had covered a great deal of ground to put an end to all those drow. Those corpses are dozens of stories above us, perhaps further… the gods only know what calamities a monster like that might have caused had it eventually breached the surface."
"Which brings rise to an interesting question." Lamorak straightened and peered around at their surroundings for the first time since they had fallen, his brow furrowed as he considered. "Where did it come from, and where are we now?"
"I may be able to provide you a little insight on that subject," echoed the sound of Brennus's voice emanating thinly from the Sixth Imaskarcana, and a pale light flared to life from its cover and illuminated the cavern around them.
It was quite vast, far wider and more spacious than the seemingly endless shaft they had spent days descending; at the westernmost curve of the cylindrical shaft the walkway ended in crumbling stone, melted away by a cesspool of corruption that even now continued to eat slowly through the rock. There were chunks of broken stone lying all about, and a dark and narrow tunnel to the south where presumably the dark elves had tunneled through from the Underdark to find themselves within the long-undisturbed lower levels of the fortress of Metos; here Lamorak and the druid accompanying him gazed warily down into the gloom but could detect no further threats or signs of life. As his companion knelt at the fissure through which the drow had emerged Lamorak returned to where the Imaskarcana lay and scooped it up in one arm, and in doing so inadvertently cast its cool white light upon the walls. Sensing Lamorak's curiosity Brennus dared to increase the brightness of the light he had channeled through the book to allow the Third Prince to more closely scrutinize the walls, for they seemed to be of a different construction entirely than the rest of the shaft had been. Where the walkway and floor were both a muted tan sandstone these walls appeared to be finely-polished copper, and upon their immaculate surfaces could be found magically-inscribed depictions the Imaskari artificers had left behind.
"Look at this," Lamorak called, and not a moment too soon – it seemed his unlikely companion was even now considering descending further into the crudely-constructed tunnel to investigate just where it might lead. Abandoning his ill-advised pursuit the druid retreated to Lamorak's side, and together they studied the various illustrations and unfamiliar markings carved into the walls. The illustrations themselves were fascinating, for Lamorak had only ever seen such a crude architectural detail in history books he had studied as a boy, but though the concept was outdated the method the Imaskari wizard-kings had employed to leave behind such depictions was nothing short of breathtaking; they had not been painted or chiseled into the surface, but rather etched into precious stones and other metals and then magically infused into the walls themselves to create the illustrations. Tentatively the druid reached out one hand and ran his fingertips reverently over the nearest image, that of a spellcaster launching a mighty lightning bolt at some attacking creature he had no name for; the wizard's billowing robes were expertly-carved ivory, and the bolt appeared to be refined topaz shimmering with an almost ethereal amber glow in the light radiating from the Imaskarcana.
"There is a king's ransom in gems and precious metals adorning these walls," he observed somewhat breathlessly, and Lamorak did not disagree. "How was this even constructed? The walls are smooth – the stones were individually cut and magically infused into them. Even I can sense as much, and magic is hardly my strong suit."
Lamorak recalled a memory barely half an hour ago when the druid had summoned dozens of massive lashing vines from the ground itself to fight in their defense and thought his comrade was being either evasive or modest, but sensed now was not the appropriate time to delve into such a subject. Instead he answered, his eyes tracing intertwining veins of amethyst and sapphire, "The wizard-kings of Imaskar were among the first to pioneer all things arcane – theirs was a civilizations centuries ahead of its time, as these carvings can attest. Who knows what they may have been capable of, had the Entry of the Gods not occurred?"
"Behind you," Brennus put in feebly, and his voice seemed so thin and reedy to Lamorak's ears that the Third Prince couldn't help but voice his concerns aloud.
"What ails you, brother?" Lamorak was closely enough attuned to the Imaskarcana to feel that something was amiss; untold power still thrummed through its cover and veritably leaked from its pages, but the tome felt somehow tired in his arms.
"It seems I expended a great deal of my own energy to project myself beyond the book's pages, even for such a short time," the Twelfth Prince explained wearily. "The book itself hardly seems fazed by what I've done, but the magic bound within the single page that signifies my own existence seems somehow exhausted."
Lamorak opened the book and flipped through its pages with trepidation, to a point about three-quarters through where the obsidian page filled with his brother's tidy golden handwriting was perpetually being penned, to find that it appeared alarmingly different; the text was still there but in places the words had smudged and become illegible, as though someone had smeared the ink before it had quite dried. As he watched the text on the page continued to appear, but slowly, and the invisible hand that seemed to be inscribing each character did so shakily.
"What does this mean?" Lamorak demanded, distressed by what he was seeing.
Brennus offered a weak chuckle for his brother's benefit, hoping the sound might alleviate some of his fears. "Do not worry – I believe I may have overstepped my own capabilities and I may need to refrain from channeling an excess of the book's power through my page for a little while, but I do not think this is cause for much concern. I have suspected for quite some time that I cannot truly be destroyed unless somehow the book itself is destroyed."
"Then perhaps you should be idle, and let me do the casting for now," suggested Lamorak a little stiffly, and at last he turned to investigate what the loremaster had intended him to see.
Nestled beneath the walkway to the north was a gate; its bars were a polished copper to match the walls, and the space behind it was mysteriously dark. Lamorak tread toward it cautiously, and the nearer he got the more clearly the light from the Imaskarcana illuminated what was hiding in the shadows – it appeared to be a small hexagonal chamber hewn entirely from pale gray stone, and nothing else. When he reached the gate he noticed an odd rune inscribed upon the gray stone floor in green phosphorescence, though what the rune signified he could only guess.
The druid was inspecting the gate as Lamorak studied the unknown sigil. "There is no lock, and no way to open the gate that I can see. Is this a puzzle meant to distract intruders? I cannot imagine the drow who breached this level were ever able to find a way through the gate, else it would surely be open."
Lamorak set his free hand upon one of the bars of the gate and gave it an experimental shake, unsurprised to find it as unyielding as it appeared; the impervious nature of the gate alone prompted his reply. "The Imaskari artificers were not the type to construct something that held no purpose, especially not miles below the ground. No, my friend, I think it is safe to say that whatever is beyond this gate holds some great significance, and we would do well to find a way through."
"I suppose our only other options are to spend days retracing our steps, or take a detour through the Underdark," Lamorak's unlikely companion reasoned sourly, and muttering a command word in the unfamiliar tongue of the druid he sprouted a thin but resilient-looking vine from the palm of his hand. As the vine elongated it twined around one of the bars half a dozen times before pulling taut, then the mysterious nomad seized the other end with both hands and lent his strength to that of the plant.
The gate did not budge.
Lamorak was thumbing through the Imaskarcana thoughtfully, perusing the spells with a practiced eye; the druid spoke another odd phrase and the vine darkened from vibrant green to a sickly crimson. Though the bar beneath its foliage grew white hot as the vine burned, the temperature was either not hot enough to melt through the copper or the bars were, as Lamorak already suspected, magically impervious to such spell effects.
"Damn it all," the druid hissed angrily, even as the vine shriveled up and died in his hand. "I am inclined to agree with you – any defenses that prove this difficult to breach are surely hiding something."
But Lamorak was only half listening now; he had reached a page near the beginning of the tome upon which was penned a series of symbols the wizard-kings of Imaskar had invented for a multitude of summoning and delayed spellcasting purposes. One of these was identical to the rune gleaming mysteriously upon the stone floor inside the gate, which Lamorak was able to read thanks to the many hours he had spent poring over the late Queen Maedra's journals. He gazed down at the symbol and spoke the word in the strange language of High Imaskar, and the coppery bars of the gate simply evaporated as though they had never been there at all; the rune upon the floor flared brightly, prompting both Lamorak and the druid to shield their eyes, and when the rune faded the entire floor lit up with an eerie white shine.
"What did you say?" the taciturn druid demanded as Lamorak snapped the tome shut smartly and tucked it beneath his arm.
"It was an Imaskari symbol – loosely translated I believe it means 'displacement'." Lamorak was frowning down at the glowing circle now, his forehead creased with anxiety. "I think we have stumbled upon a portal of some kind."
The druid's clear blue eyes widened – he had yet to tug his cowl back into place. "How can a portal still be active here, after all the time that has surely passed? It has been thousands of years since this fortress was inhabited – you said so yourself."
Lamorak shrugged. "Certain magics do not expire with the passage of time, and I daresay the Imaskari mastered a method of casting certain spells whose powers would not wane no matter how much time elapsed. Wherever this portal leads, it must be a place of great importance to their kind – why else would it still be active, even now?"
"Are you suggesting we use this portal?" asked Lamorak's unlikely companion uncertainly, eying the glowing circle with deep mistrust.
"You said yourself that our only other options are to return back the way we came, or follow the drow's tunnel further beneath the ground," the Third Prince reminded smugly. "And I suspect we will be that much closer to whatever my brother is searching for once we've reached the other side."
As Lamorak had no experience with Imaskari portals he offered his free hand to the druid, who accepted it looking less than thrilled at their chosen course of action; together they stepped within the circle's pale glow, and then the light flared again so brightly that they saw nothing for several moments. When it faded Lamorak opened his eyes and dropped the druid's hand, feeling vexed, only to find that the portal had already transported them far away from Metos.
They were standing within the swiftly-paling glow of another transportation circle, one that had seemingly received them from Metos; ahead of them were several other portals, six in all, shimmering with that same docile white light that suggested they were all active and waiting to be used even after so many centuries of dormancy. There was little else to see at first, save for the drab gray stone floor beneath them and the copper bars that surrounded the new chamber on all sides.
"Praise Mielikki," breathed the druid, and raising one slightly-shaking hand he pointed straight ahead of them. "Look."
"Yes, I see the bars, thank you," Lamorak snapped impatiently, but then he looked a little closer; it became apparent right away that his comrade was not indicating the copper bars that kept them confined to this new chamber, but rather the space beyond.
It was vast, white, and seemingly endless. There was nothing on the other side of the bars but empty space.
The pair of them stumbled numbly to the bars and looked out, expecting to glimpse something far off in the distance, or clouds wafting gently through a familiar sky, or the limitless expanse of desert stretching out below, but there was no end to the blank white void. Never before had Lamorak felt so insignificant and small in all his years; it was as though the two of them and the small chamber enclosed within the copper bars were the only things that existed. The stone platform upon which they stood appeared suspended in nothingness and a thin, gentle mist clung to their ankles, pleasantly distorting the beams of light emanating from each of the seven portals; a wave of nausea swept over the Third Prince then, for it seemed that everything he had even known had simply vanished the instant they had stepped upon the teleportation circle. Cutting his incredulous gaze to the left where his unlikely companion stood bewildered at his side, Lamorak knew he wasn't the only one struggling to comprehend their surroundings.
"Brennus," Lamorak murmured, his mouth suddenly dry, "are you seeing this?"
There issued a faint chuckle from the closed cover of the Sixth Imaskarcana. "I do not have eyes, brother. However, if you will permit me…"
For a few seconds Lamorak was possessed of a highly unnerving sensation of being displaced from his own body, and then without warning his eyes blinked once entirely against his will; he attempted to lift his hands to rub his eyes but found himself without the ability to do so, and just as panic began to set in he heard Brennus's voice waft through his mind. "There is no need to be alarmed, brother – I am simply using the magic of the tome to glimpse everything through your eyes. Give me a moment and all will be as it was again." Then Lamorak felt his body leaning forward as though of its own accord, the muscles in his neck moved subtly, and his eyes were sweeping over the void of fathomless white in all directions.
The druid beside him must have taken note of Lamorak's suddenly vacant expression, for he spoke up uncertainly, "Are you… alright…?"
Lamorak intended to answer, but his mouth would not form the words; instead he continued to stand there, an unwilling slave inside his own unresponsive body, as Brennus panned his gaze around for any clues as to their whereabouts. After a time Lamorak's body turned away from the bars and observed the seven dimly-glowing portals with growing interest, and the last thing Lamorak felt was a brief sense of satisfaction before he regained control of his own body. It happened so abruptly that his knees buckled a bit and he feared he might swoon for the ground, but his companion seemed to be sticking quite close to his side and seized him by the elbow to keep him upright.
"I apologize," came Brennus's voice from the book beneath Lamorak's arm. "I should have given you a little more warning… I imagine that was rather disconcerting for you."
The Third Prince straightened up at once and offered his compatriot a nod of wordless thanks. "Yes, I cannot say I cared much for that. I hope you were at least able to get a sense of our bearings. What have you determined?"
"Allow me to answer your question with one of my own first. How much of this tome have you read?"
Lamorak let the Sixth Imaskarcana fall open in the palm of one hand, flipping idly through pages with the other as he did so. "As much as I was able to translate in the time permitted to me for study prior to my departure from the enclave… My studies were quite time-consuming, though, for I was constantly pausing my translations to peruse Queen Maedra's journals. Why do you ask?"
"Only because I need to know how familiar you are with the Imaskari's experimentation with portals and planar displacement."
The stern-faced druid was frowning down at the book, though he was not attempting to glean any knowledge from its pages – Lamorak had warned him early on not to try to read it unless he was well-versed in the ancient language of High Imaskar, which the druid had confessed to never having heard of. Both Lamorak and Brennus were surprised by how quickly their nameless companion reached the correct conclusion. "These Imaskari created this space from nothingness – is that what you are suggesting?"
"Precisely," Brennus congratulated. "I have encountered brief and cryptic passages related to each of the other volumes of the Imaskarcana within these pages, and one of them speaks of an item that the Imaskari wizard-kings crafted specifically to aid in their experiments with spatial awareness. It is highly likely that this place is one such result of those studies… a place created from nothing, based solely on their earliest studies of the arcane and limited only by their imaginations."
The concept was among the most ambitious Lamorak had ever heard, but glancing around at the chamber the Imaskari wizard-kings had presumably fashioned from nothing he couldn't help but feel somewhat underwhelmed. True he couldn't boast that he had ever constructed something more impressive in his lifetime, but with the whole of creation at their fingertips why had the artificers of High Imaskar stopped with such a simple, nondescript room?
And then Lamorak found himself struck by a potentially crucial hypothesis.
On the first day they had begun exploring the massive fortress of Metos, Lamorak had found himself engaged in a discussion with Brennus involving potential resting places for the other volumes of the Imaskarcana. His youngest brother had mentioned three locations – the names escaped Lamorak at the moment – that were all cornerstones of the High Imaskari Empire before its swift downfall. If Metos, training hub for the whole of the Imaskari army, was linked to a spatial anomaly the artificers had created, was it not reasonable that other such locations of great import were also? Brennus had pinpointed the approximate areas in which all three ruins could be found using details he had scraped together from the book and each had ranged from several weeks to many months away; if Lamorak's guess held any truth to it, it was possible their journey was about to grow much shorter.
He whipped back around to face the portal they had stepped off upon arriving and made himself study it more closely. At first glance he did not find anything of particular interest, but as he stared the thin silver mist undulating gently along the floor drew back from the edge of the portal and he spied a flash of gold; crouching down Lamorak discovered the portal was actually suspended over a golden ring laid into the stone, its circumference equal to that of the teleportation circle and inscribed with a handful of vaguely familiar runes. Hastily Lamorak laid the book out before him and rifled through its pages to a passage that spoke of the training fortress they had spent so long excavating, and compared the symbols engraved upon the ring with those detailed in the book.
"What is it?" asked the druid nervously from just behind him, but Lamorak did not immediately answer.
The symbols in the book that spelled the location METOS were identical to those etched in the ring beneath the portal.
"Brennus," barked Lamorak, hurrying to the next nearest portal on his left and waving one hand vigorously back and forth to clear the fog away from the ring beneath the gleaming circle of light. "Have you gotten any closer to determining the location of the Fourth Imaskarcana?"
"Unfortunately the exact locations are not disclosed within the book from what I can tell," responded the Twelfth Prince thoughtfully. "The three locations we spoke of not long ago are still the most likely candidates – the Palace of the Purple Emperor in Inupras, the Ruins of Raudor buried beneath the Raurinshield Mountains, and the lost city of Solon. Why? What have you found?"
The eerie silver mist thinned just enough for Lamorak to make out the symbols engraved upon the golden ring, then he trained his eyes upon the open page of the Imaskarcana and perused the names and dates and histories until he located an identical entry and his theories were confirmed.
The ring in front of him read SOLON.
"It's a teleportation waypoint," Lamorak exclaimed excitedly, leaping to his feet and dashing to the next circle with a determined spark in his eye. "This chamber the Imaskari created, it's a means of accessing each of the major locations in High Imaskar. Metos, Solon…" His eyes darted briefly back down to the book and then he jabbed his index finger victoriously to indicate the next portal arranged in the circle. "Raudor! Brennus! It all makes sense! The entire purpose of this chamber is to link all locations together, regardless of how much distance lies between!"
"If that is indeed true," answered Brennus, sounding almost gleeful, "then our search for the rest of the Imaskarcana just became a great deal easier."
"But how to choose our next location?" the taciturn nomad inquired from behind them, and that sobered Lamorak up a great deal; he turned to find his unlikely companion standing in the center of the unadorned chamber, frowning down at the ground as though it had caused him some personal offense. "Your brother has already said the book gives no details as to where these other tomes can be found. Without some additional guidance, choosing our next location becomes mere guesswork."
"But we are no longer limited by our foot speed!" the Third Prince pointed out, gesturing with one arm to indicate the many portals shimmering around them. "Imagine – hundreds of miles traversed in an instant! What we seek is so much closer than we ever dreamed!"
The stern-faced druid caught and held Lamorak's gaze, crossing his arms over his chest; for the first time Lamorak really looked at the other man, for it seemed one of the few opportunities that had been afforded to him in the weeks they had spent traveling together. Despite the superb physical shape of his body his face was lined with cares that a man twice his age might carry, and his finely honed arms were riddled with old scars from numerous battles; though his eyes were alert there was a dullness in their depths that suggested he had suffered his fair share of tragedies and was perhaps still haunted by them. He had the distinct look of a man to whom life had not been particularly kind, and Lamorak knew that he was also not the type of man to leave such an important decision to chance. He would require facts to support their decision before he would agree to follow it, and Lamorak knew that there were none.
"Consider carefully all of the hardships we have faced on our journey thus far," the druid cautioned Lamorak, and though the Third Prince did not care much for being lectured by someone so far below his station he swallowed his biting remarks with difficulty and made himself adhere to the other man's wisdom. "The perils of the desert itself, the efreeti we battled, the helm horrors, the phaerimm, and that manifestation of corruption that slaughtered those hordes of drow and nearly put an end to us. And now you would risk our safety yet again, and drag us through countless more untold difficulties, when you have no guarantee that what you seek lies on the other side? How can you leave such a monumental decision to chance? You speak of saving time by utilizing these portals – think of the time we might waste if we make the wrong choice!"
The words rang with logic, but Lamorak already knew that there was no other option afforded to them. Brennus had scoured the book several times over in an attempt to locate any scrap of detail regarding the locations of the other volumes of the Imaskarcana, but to no avail – the far-seeing Imaskari artificers had guarded their knowledge well, too well even for the sons of Lord Shadow to decipher without great difficulty. For the first time Lamorak wondered if the time had come for him to part ways with his unlikely companion and savior, and squaring up to face the other man the Third Prince clasped him bracingly at the shoulder.
"If you would prefer not to follow," he began in a grave tone, "I will not try to coerce you into joining me. Everything you have said is true, my friend – this is too serious a decision to be left up to chance, but unfortunately our instincts are all we have left now and the stakes are too high for me to turn back. I love my brother, and I swore to the High Prince that if there was a way to restore Brennus to life I would do everything in my power to see it done. Now that means stepping into the unknown, but I am prepared to do that."
The druid offered him a wry smile. "And if I refuse to accompany you, you will no longer be obliged to fulfill your promise to me."
But Lamorak shook his head. "Not so – if it is your choice to remain here, I will seek you out when my journey is complete and make good on my vow. I am a Prince of Shade, and we keep the promises we make. Whatever you desire, so long as it is within my power to grant – I have not forgotten."
"I, too, owe you a great debt," put in Brennus solemnly, "and when we are successful you can be assured that I will not forget who aided in my return."
Lamorak's unlikely companion cast his gaze upon the ground then, considering; the Third Prince was certain he would abandon them, but his reply came as a pleasant surprise. "If I turned my back on you now, I would not be upholding my end of the bargain," he pointed out sheepishly. "I may not approve of the course this journey has taken or of how much you are leaving to chance simply to forge a path forward, but I did vow to see you to the end of your road. I would not feel right accepting a reward if I went back on my word."
"There is no telling what we might face once we pass through one of these portals," Lamorak warned, his hand lingering still upon the other man's shoulder. "The road could be fraught with danger."
"As it has been since the day we first set out," the druid reminded him dryly, and he offered Lamorak perhaps the first real smile that the Third Prince had ever seen him wear. "I will follow you, Prince. You have stood by me throughout these perils, and now I shall stand by you."
"This is all rather touching," Brennus cut in bemusedly, "but we still must choose our next destination. Lamorak, thus far you have identified portals to both Solon and Raudor… is there also one for the Palace of the Purple Emperor?"
Lamorak dropped his hand from his enigmatic comrade's shoulder and continued wandering the chamber in a counter-clockwise circle, gazing rapturously down at the Imaskarcana as he attempted to translate the runes inscribed upon each of the golden teleportation rings. The druid watched him go about his work silently, fearing any words he spoke might prove distracting, but the study of the late Queen Maedra's journals seemed to have greatly improved Lamorak's speed at translating the ancient language of High Imaskar and after only ten minutes he had the answer. "Metos, Solon, Raudor and Inupras are all places that seem to be tied to this extraplanar dimension. Additionally there are three more locations that I have not heard you mention over the past few months… Bhaluin, Jorhat, and Raurin. You said that the Palace of the Purple Emperor once resided within the capital city of Inupras, did you not?"
"Correct," replied the loremaster succinctly. "These three other places are no less important to the Imaskari Empire – I have read about them in greater detail, for they do not seem to be as closely guarded. What is left of the city of Bhaluin is submerged within the Brightstar Lake, located somewhere off the western coast of Semphar… it served as a buffer zone between the northernmost boundary of the Empire of High Imaskar and dragon invasions from the far north. Jorhat Citadel resides within a mountain range of the same name – it was a magnificent castle from which the Imaskari spied upon the neighboring nation of Kara-Tur, with whom they had been known to quarrel in the past, and it was one of the last strongholds of the empire to be overrun when the aspects of Ptah swept down from the Godswatch Mountains. As for Raurin, the Imaskarcana suggests this was the birthplace of the Imaskari Empire. All of the structures that once comprised Raurin have long since been swallowed up by the sands of the Dust Desert, which stretches for several hundred miles in every direction."
Lamorak was stroking his chin with his free hand as he voiced his musings aloud. "I think you are right to assume that what we seek will not likely be found in any of the latter three locations. Even the wizard-kings of High Imaskar would have recognized the potential folly in housing one of their most precious artifacts so near to the lands where dragons roam in vast numbers, so I believe we can eliminate Bhaluin; similarly if Imaskar had warred with Kara-Tur as much as the book suggests, Jorhat Citadel would have made a poor resting place as well. And if the decision rested with me, I personally would not choose Raurin simply because the birthplace of a great empire is where anyone with half a brain would go to search for long lost relics."
"Keen observations," agreed the stern-faced druid. "Where then? That still leaves us with three prospects, all of which your brother knows very little."
"If you'll indulge me, I'm inclined to think that we can eliminate Solon from our list," Brennus put in broodingly. "In my studies I did find evidence that Solon was rebuilt twice after the fall of the Imaskari Empire; I cannot imagine that throughout the course of those two reconstructions there remains anything of value."
Lamorak finished his third circuit of the teleportation circles and uttered a tiny sigh, running a hand down his face. "That leaves us with two options: the Palace of the Purple Emperor within the capital city of Inupras, or the Ruins of Raudor beneath the Raurinshield Mountains."
"Do we know anything of either location?" questioned Lamorak's surly comrade, crossing his arms yet again.
"The Imaskarcana speaks of the construction of the Palace of the Purple Emperor as one of the grandest examples of the artificers' skills at utilizing extradimensional space," Brennus informed them helpfully. "I have read that the interior of the palace is many times larger than it appears from the outside, and that the enchantments surrounding the castle are among the strongest the Imaskari ever cast. Conversely, Raudor's location within the Raurinshield Mountains made it nigh-impenetrable, and that did not improve with its partial collapse; as well-hidden as it is, it would not come as a surprise to me if this portal is the only way to access it anymore. And seeing as how only one versed in the forgotten language of High Imaskar would have the knowledge necessary to utilize the portal…"
"It would not be a stretch to assume that not a single soul has set foot within Raudor since the Entry of the Gods," Lamorak finished, and his eyes flashed purposefully in the direction of the portal marked RAUDOR. "I believe we have settled on our most likely prospect, brother." He glanced back at the druid one final time, his brows knitted with concern as he asked, "Are you certain you wish to follow me? There is no telling what we might encounter once we enter the Ruins of Raudor."
"My mind is made up," the other man replied, and with that he tugged his cowl back into place and brought his spear to bear as though he anticipated they might be accosted by some hostile party the moment they stepped through the portal.
"Then I suppose there's nothing else to discuss," Lamorak concluded, and gesturing to his comrade they stepped tentatively into the pale circle of light together.
As they vanished the thin silver mist creeping along the weathered stone scattered as though caught in a breeze.
Safe within his apartment, the protective enchantments he had enacted using the powers of the Fifth Imaskarcana swirling all around him, self-appointed Lord Artificer Voltain Darkydle opened his eyes with a great shuddering intake of breath.
The hour was quite late, he supposed, for the candles he had lit to assist with his meditation had all burned out and beyond his window there appeared to be no foot traffic in the city below; Voltain lurched from his chair and stumbled throughout the darkened room, groping for the glass of water he was certain he'd left for himself on a side table near the window. When he located it at last he drank it down in desperate gulps, refilled it, and did so again; there was a fine sheen of sweat upon his skin that was making him shiver with cold, and his head ached dully. Collapsing upon the couch situated in front of the wide sitting room window he massaged his temples rigorously, eyes squeezed shut, frantically trying to recall all that he had seen whilst in his fugue state.
A poorly-lit chamber at the bottom of a set of cracked and crumbling stone steps… shifting amber sands pouring through a fissure in the ceiling… a great bronze pedestal, and something shining with a clear white light nestled in its center…
Voltain returned to the desk where the Fifth Imaskarcana lay open and retrieved a sheaf of parchment, hastily dipping a quill into an open inkwell and hurriedly recording his observations. Nothing could be overlooked. Not a single detail could be spared.
The Fifth Imaskarcana had made mention of Raudor in several passages, even going so far as to suggest that one of the other artifacts that comprised the seven Imaskarcana named Raudor as its final resting place. There was not enough evidence for Voltain to justify abandoning his studies and go excavating a long-buried ruin deep within the Raurinshield Mountains, but now… well, now everything had changed. He had expended all of his energy over the course of several days tapping into the tome he possessed, delving as far as he dared in his quest for knowledge, praying for the way to become known to him… And now this vision, so clear that he could have sworn he had glimpsed it with his waking eyes.
Briefly he thought of Illyria, the fatespinning gloaming who had once stuck so closely to his side and taken such great interest in his endeavors, and wondered if she had seen this long before he had. How much time might he have saved were she here with him now?
When he had penned every last detail he could recall from the vision imparted on him by the Fifth Imaskarcana he swept the tome off his desk and tucked it close beneath his arm, then rushed out of his apartment and out into the deserted avenues of the town square. Much as he wished he could be on his way immediately he knew his sudden departure would arouse a great deal of suspicion if he did not inform the High Lord Planner, or at the very least one of Illis Khendarhine's advisors, of his comings and goings.
The Emerald Atrium was practically devoid of all life; the guards on watch at the doors bowed him respectfully inside, but there wasn't a soul in the lobby to inquire as to his business there or to summon one of his fellow councilmen. Instead of waiting for someone to escort him Voltain thundered up the stairs without hesitation, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart hammering excitedly in his chest. At last! The location of yet another Imaskarcana had been revealed, as he knew it would be if he remained diligent in his studies! There was nothing to stand in the way of him acquiring it, for he wholeheartedly believed that there wasn't a single force in all of Faerun that could hope to stand against the might of the descendants of Ilphemon.
Cresting the stairs Voltain burst into the council meeting chamber, where the Lady Enactor Furyma Selovan had been hard at work condensing her notes from the last session of council; she leapt from her seat with a start when he admitted himself, one hand clutched to her breast in fright, but she relaxed almost as soon as she had identified him.
"Lord Artificer!" she exclaimed, her entire demeanor shifting to one of pleasant surprise as she recognized him, and Voltain had to work not to roll his eyes. "Forgive my reaction, I wasn't expecting anyone at this hour." She must have taken note of his state of unease then, the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the beads of sweat upon his brow and the wild look in his eyes, for her eyebrows shot up and she added, "Is something wrong?"
"Furyma," he breathed, stumbling forward another pace or two and clinging to the back of one of the chairs circling the conference table as he labored for breath. "I must be gone at once. Please pass along my sincerest apologies to Illis, but I am needed elsewhere and I haven't time to delay."
"Where are you going on such short notice?" Furyma demanded, her face crestfallen and dismayed, but she remembered herself quickly and regained her composure easily enough. "Forgive me, of course I would never have the audacity to question you – "
"Furyma," Voltain interrupted determinedly, and dropping the Fifth Imaskarcana down upon the conference table he seized one of her petite hands in both his own. The unexpected physical contact established between them effectively silenced the Lady Enactor, who gazed up at him open-mouthed and flushed as he continued, "I have determined the location of one of the unclaimed Imaskarcana. While I feel confident enough that none know of its resting place save myself, I simply cannot delay my departure just to pass along a farewell note that you are perfectly capable of delivering in my stead. Please – give me your word that you'll tell Illis where I've gone. The last thing I want is to return home victorious, only to find that our High Lord Planner has lost his head and staged a mutiny in my brief absence."
At first, Voltain was absolutely certain that Furyma would oblige him – after all, she had been enamored with him for as long as he could recall, and she possessed a pliant and non-confrontational disposition that made her easy to manipulate. But for whatever reason her eyes strayed from his to where the Fifth Imaskarcana lay, and when they flitted back to his face they held a trace of suspicion he was certain he hadn't seen before.
"Lord Artificer," she asked in a low voice, "where is the Sixth Imaskarcana? Surely you are taking it with you?"
Voltain nearly cursed aloud. In his excitement to be on his way to the Ruins of Raudor, he had forgotten his ultimate lie – that the other council members believed he had struck down Third Prince Lamorak of Thultanthar and taken the Sixth Imaskarcana from his body, and had possessed both tomes for months now. In such circumstances, Furyma's innocent question was quite reasonable – after all, she and Ebrul and Voltain all silently agreed that the only reason Illis hadn't attempted to usurp control of the Fifth Imaskarcana and regain power over Deep Imaskar was his belief that Voltain possessed two of those timeless artifacts. But now…
The Lady Enactor attempted to snatch her hand away as though his touch burned her, but Voltain held her fast; there was a mad desperation in his eyes that frightened her to the bone. There was no use spinning more lies – now that Furyma suspected the truth she could easily order the guards to search his private abode if she felt so inclined, and if she did Voltain's self-appointed position of Lord Artificer would be stripped from him. He couldn't depend on any of his three fellow council members to support him when they discovered he had lied, either - Illis had never adjusted to his sudden fall from leadership, Ebrul had only backed Voltain's rise because he'd sensed an opportunity to improve his own station, and Furyma's support was fueled solely by her infatuation with him.
It gave him an idea, one which prompted him to gather her even closer and gaze deeply into her eyes, and the sudden intensity with which he regarded her stole the dark suspicion from Furyma's face and replaced it almost immediately with a wild intrigue.
"Furyma," Voltain murmured a third time, his voice lower now and a touch sultry. "I meant not to tell anyone this, but I know that I can trust you above all others." Lifting one hand from hers the Lord Artificer stroked her cheekbone tenderly with his thumb, and poor unsuspecting Furyma practically melted in his arms. "The truth is, I was not able to retrieve the Sixth Imaskarcana. That shade, Prince Lamorak, used the deceitful magic of the shadow creatures and managed to keep it from me. I have been secretly pursuing him ever since in the hopes of taking it from him, but he has proven thus far to be quite a formidable foe; even now he is closing in on the next Imaskarcana, and I fear for all of Deep Imaskar should he succeed. Please, Furyma – for the love I know you bear our people, I am begging you to stay by my side. I do not think I can succeed without you."
"You…" Furyma's lovely eyes were shining with tears, though out of betrayal for his admission or emotion for his amorous behavior he could not tell. "You've been… lying to us?"
"Only to keep order," Voltain told her, squeezing her hand in reassurance. "Can you imagine how difficult it would become to keep Illis at a heel if he knew we were on equal footing? Only through claiming to possess the Sixth Imaskarcana was I able to secure his allegiance at all. And Ebrul is loyal only to himself – he pledges his support to whomever boasts the most power, you know that! This was the only way to keep the peace, Furyma! You know that I am not a dishonest man."
Something about Voltain's words prompted the first of Furyma's tears to fall, and a leaden weight settled heavily in the pit of his stomach. This time when she attempted to pull free of him, he released her without protest; instantly Furyma folded in on herself, shaking her head in utter disbelief. "I… I trusted you," she stammered, tears streaming silently down her cheeks now. "And all this time you led us to believe you were a man you are not?"
"No, Furyma," growled Voltain, a low warning creeping into his tone now. "I am still that man. You can help me stop this dissolution. Nothing has to change. Just give me a little time to secure that which rightfully belongs in Deep Imaskar! If I do not hurry, the shadow dwellers from Thultanthar will lay claim to something which they have no right to take!"
There was a dangerous glint in Furyma's eyes now, one Voltain could not recall ever seeing before; with tear tracks still shining on her cheeks she squared up to face him, and he was shocked by the strength and conviction of her reply. "Out of the love I bear for our civilization I will keep silent for now, and as this is a time sensitive matter I will even allow you to leave this place. But I warn you, Lord Artificer – if you return here empty-handed, or if you attempt to use my personal feelings for you against me in the future, I will not cooperate. I will tell Illis and Ebrul what I know, and together we will usurp power from you. Your secret is safe for now, for I want nothing more than to keep the peace in such a tumultuous time, but you have been warned!"
Voltain stared open-mouthed at the diminutive Imaskari female facing him, unsure how to respond. In all the years he had known her, Voltain had never once witnessed Furyma standing up for herself.
"I will do my best to ensure that I do not disappoint you," the Lord Artificer at last answered solemnly. "And I thank you for your continued support. I swear to you I will not take it for granted."
"I pray that you are successful in your endeavor," Furyma warned him, angrily swiping tears from her face, "for your sake."
Skirting carefully around her Voltain retrieved the Fifth Imaskarcana from the table, and casting one final sheepish glance Furyma's way he excused himself from the conference chamber. Then he tucked the book beneath his arm and swept out of the Emerald Atrium without a backward glance.