Drizzt shook his head yet again, not quite certain how it could be. Those were Elvish letters, and they had been cut with a fine tool, such as Khazid’hea, but. .
He shook his head a third time, thoroughly flummoxed and trying hard to convince himself that he had jumped to errant conclusions. Likely the lettering had been cut into that wall in ages past, and for reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom. No matter, though, for the camp was not that old, and it was not the camp of kobolds, but of some form of elves-almost certainly drow.
So they, some at least, were near.
Drizzt drew his blades.
The unseen and unheard shadow crept from the room.
The Hunter went to hunt.
“Perhaps it turns, up ahead,” Kipper offered. “Or the primal beast’s tendril winds about and rejoins later on.”
But Catti-brie remained resolute. “No,” she said, her hands moving across the side wall of the natural tunnel. The primordial power, the vein of the creature, passed right under them, crossing the corridor beneath their feet.
“A parallel tunnel then, doubling back beside this one,” Penelope offered. Again Catti-brie shook her head.
She felt the stone all around, and noted that one section seemed different, seemed somehow flatter than the more curving walls of the tunnel. “A chamber, hidden,” she said, as much to herself as to the others. “Here.”
“Hidden?” Kipper asked, moving over. Behind him, Penelope began to cast a spell.
“Sealed, you must mean,” Kipper said when Catti-brie directed his hands to the flatter area.
“A summoned wall of stone,” Penelope announced a moment later, and both turned to regard her. She nodded her chin to indicate the exact area they had been inspecting. “The magic still resonates, quietly, though it is very, very ancient, I sense.”
“The tendril goes in there?” Kipper asked again.
But this time, Catti-brie shook her head. “The tendril ends in there,” she clarified, and she was as surprised by the notion as the others.
“Another passwall, Kipper?” Penelope asked.
“I’ve only a pair remaining, for a quick escape, if needed, or to get us back out the way we came in,” the old wizard said.
“Use one,” Penelope bade him. “When we are finished, I will summon an extradimensional room where we can rest safely through the night, and you can regain your escape spells for use tomorrow.”
Kipper nodded and cleared his throat.
“It won’t work,” Catti-brie said with certainty before Kipper could begin his spellcasting.
“Too wide a block of stone?” Penelope asked.
“Too heavily warded,” Catti-brie replied, and again she was feeling about the stone. “Protected from any magic that might remove it."
“How can you know this?”
Catti-brie thought about that for a moment, then surprised the others-and herself a bit-by replying, “The primordial told me.”
“Our girl’s gone crazy, Penelope,” Kipper said with a snort. “Sure to make herself a proper Harpell, I suppose.”
“How can the primordial know. .?” Penelope started to say, but she stopped when she noted that Catti-brie was chanting, her voice thick with her brogue and her words unrecognizable, though they sounded Dwarvish.
“Ainm an dee,” Catti-brie recited. “Aghaidh na Dumathoin. .”
The young auburn-haired mage closed her eyes and let the words flow through her. The beast was giving them to her! The ghosts of Gauntlgrym, the very memories resonating within the walls of this most ancient dwarven homeland, were offering them to her.
Or perhaps they were fooling her, she worried for just an instant, playing her for a fool so that she would enact a spell that would doom them all.
Catti-brie was in the thrall of the enchantment now. She felt like nothing more than a conduit-and that, too, made her worry that the primordial was using her to facilitate its breakout.
She fell back as the last “ dachaigh fior-charade brathair” passed her lips, the last syllable resonating about the stones and corridor, hanging in the air magically like the mournful call of a lost age.
The ground began to shake. Catti-brie fell back in fear, and Penelope and Kipper caught her by the arms and ushered her back the way they had come, Kipper crying, “Run away!” with every step.
A great scraping sound echoed around them and the ground trembled more forcefully, but forcefully, too, did Catti-brie break free of the others, skidding to a stop and whirling around. Kipper and Penelope rushed back to grab her again, but then they, too, stopped.
The wall began to rise, dust and debris, and the rock that had formed above the summoned wall of stone over the ages, the natural cladding, broke away and crashed down upon the floor. The summoned stone almost disappeared into the ceiling.
Catti-brie walked to the black opening, unafraid, though truly it seemed the gaping maw of an ancient and massive beast, like the chamber of Gauntlgrym itself was waiting to devour her.
“Well, what did you say?” Kipper demanded.
“I’m not for knowing,” Catti-brie admitted, not even looking back. She raised one hand and cast a quick spell, bringing a globe of light up in front of her, beyond the opened portal.
Even with the magical light, the small chamber beyond was not brightly lit, as if its very age was somehow battling the spell.
Catti-brie went in anyway, finding herself in a perfectly rectangular, nondescript room, ten strides left and right, west and east, in front of her, but only half that wide to the other wall, the north wall, directly across from her.
No, not nondescript, she realized when she stepped in and surveyed the whole of the place, for down to her right, deeper into the tunnel, along the short western wall, where three large beams of square stone, two upright and one across the top of them, and slightly askew, like a door jamb that had tilted to the left. They were against the flat wall, either leaning on it or set into it-Catti-brie couldn’t be sure.
Hardly thinking of the action, Catti-brie slowly walked toward the strange formation.
“Wait, girl!” she heard Kipper cry, and with such sudden alarm that she heeded his call and even looked back at him and Penelope, who had come into the small room.
“What is it?” Penelope asked.
Kipper blew a deep sigh and reached into his pouch for the skullsized gemstone. “It’s the ancient gate,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper-he could not find the strength to lift his voice above a whisper.
“How can you know?” Penelope asked, and Catti-brie asked at the same time, “How can ye be knowin’?”
But then, before Kipper could answer, Catti-brie spoke for him. “The primordial’s powering it,” she said.
Both women looked at Kipper.
“The beast granted them some magic?” Kipper asked. “Perhaps, yes, it would make sense. The dwarves used it to give them the power for their waygate, and the beast gained a measure of freedom for its troubles-a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“You can’t know that,” said Penelope.
“We can’t know anything for sure,” Kipper shot back. “We are speaking of construction and magic that is older than the oldest elves. Millennia, we are talking, not centuries!”
“But your guess is correct,” Catti-brie said. “At least partially so.”
“The primordial told you that, as well?” Penelope asked, and Catti-brie shrugged and nodded.
“One way to know for sure,” Kipper announced, and he moved forward, past Catti-brie, gemstone in hand. He studied the two standing stone beams for a moment, then gave a laugh and set the skull-sized gem into the one on the left.
The space within the jamb burst into flame, and Kipper fell back, yelping in terror. Catti-brie and Penelope caught him, the three watching in amazement as the fires burned and roiled within the confines of the jamb, but then gradually diminished before flying away entirely, as if sucked into the opposing beam.