Final Gate by Richard Baker Read Free Book Online Page A

while Maresa and Nesterin were still holding their sides, and even dour Donnor was laughing softly.
    In the morning, they set out toward the southwest, leaving the tree-grown ruins of Myth Glaurach behind them. They left their mounts in the care of the elves there, since the terrain was better suited to travel afoot. For most of the day they picked their way through the steep foothills and stream-filled gorges of the Talons, the swift cold mountain streams that formed the headwaters of the mighty Delimbiyr River. Then they veered west and skirted the forest verge, staying well to the north of the fuming crevasse where Hellgate Keep once stood.
    “Turlang the Treant stands watch over the place, but it isn’t safe to go any nearer,” Gaerradh explained. “The Scoured Legion of Kaanyr Vhok lurks in the pits deep below the ruins of the keep.”
    Gaerradh led them to a well-hidden wood elf shelter, concealed high in the branches of a mighty shadowtop, where they camped for the night. Then, a little after sunrise, they continued on their way. Satisfied that they’d circled far enough around Hellgate Keep, the wood elf turned southward and led them into the depths of the High Forest. Araevin was struck by how different the woodland was from the forests of Evermeet or even Cormanthor. The High Forest was old, with a high, thick canopy so dense that sunlight did not reach the forest floor. While summer in Cormanthor had been humid, even sweltering at times, the air beneath the mighty boles was so chilly and damp that he could not believe the month was Flamerule.
    “The trees don’t like us,” Donnor muttered when they halted for a brief rest. “I can feel it.”
    “They sleep more deeply here than they do in the Yuirwood, but they dream of dark things,” Jorin agreed. “If I were you, I would avoid giving them offense.”
    The Lathanderite grimaced and wrung out the hood of his cloak. “I won’t speak ill of them if they extend the same courtesy to me.”
    Shortly before sunset, they finally reached the rocky for of Nar Kerymhoarth, the Nameless Dungeon. A low hill of ancient stone rose up through the forest mantle, its sides draped with young evergreens. Without Gaerradh’s aid, they might easily have missed it altogether. Approaching from the north, there was nothing to indicate that a buried vault lay beneath the hill. The wood elf led them around the base of the for and finally brought them out into a valley between two arms of the hill.
    “Here,” said Gaerradh. “This is the place where the daemonfey opened Nar Kerymhoarth.”
    Araevin frowned. All he saw was a desolate clearing in the forest between the rocky arms of the hillside But then he realized that the defile in which they stood was not a natural valley, but instead a titanic bite taken out of the hillside Clover and blackberries covered much of the bare dirt, but shorn tree trunks marked the edges of the vast wound, and great boulders lay tumbled out of place all around them The defile ended in a deep cleft in the hillside, where a dark cave mouth awaited.
    “Let me guess,” Maresa said. “In there? That would be our hack. Trolls, demons, devils, whatever in the Nine Hells that monster Grimlight was … I just can’t wait.”
    “It may not be inside,” Araevin told her. “The crystal might be lying on the forest floor a mile or two away.”
    The genasi eyed the beckoning darkness under the hill. “Care to wager on that?”
    Nesterin looked to Araevin. “You said that this was an old elven stronghold,” the star elf said. “Who delved it, and why? What is the story of this place?”
    “Its name is Nar Kerymhoarth. My people do not like to speak of it,” Gaerradh answered for Araevin. “Because we don’t tell its name to outsiders, the place became known as the Nameless Dungeon. It’s one of the Seven Citadels of ancient Siluvanede.
    “Long ago, three elven kingdoms shared this forest: Eaerlann, Siluvanede, and Sharrven. Siluvanede was