The prince put one great hand on the edge of the raised canister and clutched the lip of the silo with the other.
The wide canister, partially unjacketed, with its mechanical locks only half engaged, resisted the earth lord’s attempt to close it. The inlaid Nadir crystal lines across the top of the canister lit up, but the radiance wasn’t purple—it was yellow. The entangling magic wasn’t dead—it sought to reengage.
The citrine radiance penetrated the cloud of blackness. Pandorym’s nimbus roiled and boiled, and tendrils of night snaked out to point threateningly at Prince Monolith. But without its servitors to do its bidding, Pandorym’s aura was toothless. It would remain so if Ususi could continue to hold the portal.
“Try again!” the wizard commanded.
“Help me!” yelled Prince Monolith.
Iahn and the elf took up positions along the edges of Pandorym’s prison vessel.
The elemental’s mineral thews contracted with a sound like a rock fall in a ravine. Kiril and the vengeance taker cursed and grunted with effort.
With a lurch and click, the canister popped back into place, sealed.
The portal into Deep Imaskar slammed shut. Ususi staggered as her spell collapsed. The lines of yellow Nadir crystal that inlaid the surface of the canister surged as if living things, knitting and extending themselves in racing lines of arcane fire until they completely covered the silo, their severed ends rejoining to form a perfect circle of warding.
The spiral of void and destruction came untethered. It whirled faster and faster, wild streams of violet midnight, a vortex of dust and dark, draining away into the ultimate spaces beyond the worlds. With a last furious scream, Pandorym’s shadow faded into history’s depths.
Clouds gathered, white on ivory, on the horizon. The day’s last blinding rays infused the storm with ominous highlights.
Ususi looked across the trackless Raurin Desert from a balcony high on the Palace of the Purple Emperor.
“Iahn is late,” Zel fretted.
Ususi turned to regard Zeltaebar Datharathi.
“Vengeance takers follow their own schedules. They are not so much late as … deliberate,” Ususi responded.
“He said he’d return today. Here comes day’s end. I don’t see how we can get a trade covenant brokered between Deep Imaskar and Vaelan if timetables can’t be—”
“Uncle!” broke in Warian. The young man with the crystal arm was seated on a comfortable bench on the balcony. The bench, one of several, and other items of comfort, had been delivered several days ago by Datharathi skyship. They represented sample merchandise that Deep Imaskar might wish to trade for, according to Zel. On a small table next to Warian, playing cards were arranged in several small stacks. Brightly painted dragons of various hues were visible on each card.
The Datharathis—those few who survived destruction by Pandorym—had been quick to see an untapped trade opportunity in Deep Imaskar. Even Warian seemed interested in his family business, now that it tottered close to dissolution. Of all the senior family members, only he and Zel survived—he because his prosthesis predated Pandorym’s release, and Zel because the man had been too paranoid to accept the implants.
Seated next to Warian was the elf, Kiril Duskmourn. Ususi watched her curiously. She was surprised that the swordswoman lingered in the palace, especially with the duty she proclaimed, on a daily basis, she had to fulfill. Prince Monolith had departed soon after their victory, taking with him a sorely wounded dwarf geomancer named Thormud Horn. The dwarf’s peculiar dragonet familiar, Xet, remained with Kiril, much to the elf’s apparent displeasure. Ususi had exchanged only a few words with the geomancer before he left, but she’d thanked him for bringing such potent allies as Monolith and Kiril to their aid. The dwarf had been gracious but sickly. The earth lord had rushed him away to administer healing and rest, possibly far below the mantle, where the elementals reigned.
“Are you even listening to me?” Zel asked her.
Ususi shook her head. “Iahn will return soon enough. Probably with an artificer or planner in tow with whom you can make your deals. In the aftermath of all the destruction and chaos in Deep Imaskar, they’ll be desperate to trade for food and goods. But see to it you don’t take advantage of Deep Imaskar’s problems …”
Zel held up his hands and nearly spluttered.
“… because I doubt Iahn would look kindly on that sort of profiteering.”
“Don’t worry, Ususi,” said Warian from his seat. “The items we’ve provided so far are gifts, to show our good intentions. Once your city has had time to get back on its feet, we can begin to talk in earnest.”
Ususi nodded. “All in good time.”
Zel turned from badgering the wizard and focused his attention on the swordswoman.
“What about you, Kiril? Given any more thought to my proposal? Perhaps this Sildëyuir realm of yours would also like to trade with Vaelan. I could work a deal that would greatly benefit both parties.”
Warian sighed, but didn’t interrupt. Instead, he returned to fiddling with his cards.
The elf raised a single eyebrow as she regarded Zeltaebar. “You weren’t really listening to me, if you think I have enough influence to open the hidden realm to trade. Or if you think I give a damn about trade in the first place.”
Zel reddened, but pressed on. “Right. You were saying something about a citadel—that it was time you returned? I’m sorry, what was it called? Deeprock? No? Understar?”
“Stardeep,” corrected Kiril. The elf reached for the flask on her hip, spun off the top, and sipped. Even from where the wizard stood at the balustrade, she smelled the bitter tang of hard spirits.
The elf returned the flask to her hip and said, “It’s not the kind of place that is interested in barter or luxuries. It’s a prison. The less said, the better. Catch my meaning, tradesman?” Kiril fixed Zel with an ominous scowl.
“Hey, I can take a hint!” Zel backed away and dropped onto the cushioned bench next to his nephew, muttering.
The wizard was curious about the swordswoman’s bitterness and veiled references. Kiril was adept at saying just enough to rouse interest about her past, before the span when she worked for Thormud. Then she’d invariably clam up, curse, and threaten anyone who asked questions. A story was hidden in her evasions, but not one Ususi had the energy to pursue.
Not when she had her own newly minted dream to follow.
Ususi looked back across the darkening sky.
Since Pandorym’s entrapment, she’d explored the palace a little. What she’d found amazed her. The entire edifice was a powerful relic of her vanished ancestors. Some of its chambers seemed bigger on the inside than out. She’d sealed the weapons cache, but other chambers and vaults within the palace promised to reveal less dire secrets. Truth be told, with her discovery of the palace, her impetus to continue her original quest—locating each of the twenty gates into the Celestial Nadir—had waned. The palace alone would take years to fully plumb.
Plus, its size and peculiar qualities offered unique opportunities.
The seed of an idea, rooted days earlier, continued to grow in her imagination. She wondered again—was it time for Imaskar to expand? The city behind the Great Seal would be rebuilt, of course. But perhaps the attack signaled the need for another colony of Imaskari to establish itself. Perhaps even on the surface from which they’d fled nearly four thousand years earlier.
She chuckled. She considered the Palace of the Purple Emperor as the location of her imagined colony. Her exploration of the palace had unearthed startling revelations. She’d discovered how to move the entire structure! Using magical controls in the emperor’s suite, she could shift the palace to a kinder location in Faerûn than the center of an inhospitable desert.
But, before Ususi allowed such grand dreams to sweep her away on a new quest, she had unfinished business to attend. Each day she spent exploring the palace was another day she put off going home.
She had to return t
o Deep Imaskar. She owed it to her people; she owed it to herself. She owed her sister Qari for her life. Without Qari’s gift, when she’d flailed in Pandorym’s gulf of darkness, they’d all have perished, or worse. But the price for accepting her sister’s gift was steep. Ususi suspected Qari was utterly severed from the world, blind and perhaps suffering.
Ususi had run long enough. She would return to Deep Imaskar and help Qari as she was able. She would return her special perception to her sister, if possible.
After that, she would reveal her grand plans to the lord apprehender. With or without his blessing, Ususi resolved to bring a kernel of Imaskar back to the surface.
In that moment, High Imaskar was born. Whether in folly or in grace, only the future would disclose.
The gray clouds reared above the boundary separating day and night, in whose shadow grew a restful twilight of cooling desert sand.
about the author
Bruce R. Cordell is a longtime game designer known chiefly for his many adventures. His novel credits include Oath of Nerull (under the house name of T. H. Lain) and Lady of Poison. Bruce’s published short stories include “Hollows of the Heart,” in Children of the Rune, and “Not All That Tempts,” in Dragon’s Return. He maintains a blog at brucecordell.com.
The Wizards
DARKVISION
©2006 Wizards of the Coast LLC
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eISBN: 978-0-7869-5672-2
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