“There is also the chance of a mistake,” Ilsevele told Maresa.
The genasi shot a sharp look at her. “Mistake? What sort of mistake?”
“It would not ease your mind at all if you knew, Maresa.” Ilsevele patted her arm and walked past her, following the path down to the city below.
The three travelers found their way back to the Golden Oak, and took rooms there again. Then, after shucking their packs and traveling gear, they went straight to the Vault of Sages.
“I left Calwern with a list of references and texts to search for me,” Araevin explained as they walked through the tree-shaded streets of the city. “Before we do anything else, I want to see if he has learned anything important.”
“What will you do if the knowledge you seek has simply been lost?” Ilsevele asked. “It has been a very long time. The spells you need may not exist any longer.”
“Spells rarely vanish all together, at least in my experience. The gods of magic often intervene to ensure that knowledge does not disappear from the world.” In truth, Araevin dreaded that very possibility, but he did not want to dwell on it until he had to. “If Morthil has been forgotten by history, it may be that his spells remain. Clerics of Mystra, Oghma, or Denier hold many old spellbooks in their libraries. And if all else fails, I can attempt to reinvent the spells myself, though that would take many months, perhaps even years, of research. I think I am in too much of a hurry for that.”
They arrived at the Vault. The great library’s gray stone turrets and narrow windows made it seem more like a castle sitting in the center of Silverymoon than a place of learning, but the library’s doors stood open. They mounted the worn stone steps to the wood-paneled foyer inside. Bright dust motes drifted in the yellow sunlight that slanted through the windows.
“Why, Master Teshurr, you have returned! And Lady Miritar, too-how good to see you again!” Brother Calwern straightened up from his desk, a broad smile creasing his seamed face. “You concluded your out-of-town affairs to your satisfaction, I trust?”
“Not entirely. I dealt with the question I was called away to look into, but I fear it only led to more questions.”
“In my experience, difficult questions are like hydras’ heads,” Calwern said. “Each one you vanquish leads to two more. If it’s any help, I have set aside those tomes you asked me to look for. Do you want me to bring them out for you?”
Araevin nodded. “Yes, please, Brother Calwern.”
“The second reading room is open. Make yourselves comfortable, and I will bring them out directly.”
Araevin bowed to the human cleric, and led Ilsevele and Maresa to the reading room. In a few minutes Calwern appeared, wheeling a small cart stacked with musty old texts and scrolls.
“Here you are,” the human said. He handed Araevin a parchment letter, a list of the tomes with cryptic notes and marks accompanying it. “The list you requested. You’ll find some notes about what is here and what isn’t, as well as a few sources I added as I thought of them.”
Maresa eyed the stack of books with suspicion. “I like reading as much as the next person, but that is a formidable stack of paper. Are you going to read all of those, Araevin?”
“As many as I need to,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable, Maresa. Or, if you’d like to help, I’ll explain what I’m looking for, and you can try your hand at it too.” He looked over to Brother Calwern. “Thank you, Brother Calwern. This should be an excellent start.”
They spent the rest of the day plowing through the collection of ancient texts and histories compiled by dozens of different authors, some human, some elf, and even a couple written by dwarves or halflings. Then they returned to the Golden Oak, ate, rested, and returned the next morning to resume their efforts, and again on the following day.
By the morning of the third day, Araevin had learned some things he hadn’t known before. Morthil, the star elf wizard, was said to live in a realm named Yuireshanyaar. Araevin had never heard of any such land, and so he broadened his search, looking for anything he could find about a realm so old or so far off that even the sun elves had forgotten about it. He asked Calwern to look into it as well, and resumed his reading.
Late in the afternoon, Brother Calwern brought Araevin a heavy ancient tome bound in dragon hide.
“Good afternoon, Master Teshurr,” he said warmly. “I believe I may have found your missing kingdom.”
Maresa looked up from an old tome she had been examining. “Thank Akadi,” she muttered. “My eyes can’t stand another hour of this.”
The Deneirrath cleric set the heavy book on the reading table, and opened it with care. It was an ancient atlas with page after page of old maps, all marked in script Araevin could not read.
“Is this Untheric?” he asked.
“Yes, it is. The atlas dates back almost two thousand years. Fortunately its makers protected it with spells of preservation long ago.” The white-haired Deneirrath carefully paged through the atlas, finally settling on a spread that showed, in fading ink, a long peninsula jutting into an island-studded sea. “The Yuir forest, where the realm of Aglarond now stands,” the cleric said.
Ilsevele leaned over Araevin’s shoulders. “Aglarond’s forests hide many secrets, but a fallen kingdom no one has ever heard of? That stretches credulity.”
Araevin studied the ancient map and said, “I see no realm or cities marked on the map.”
“Ah, but look at the Untheric caption, here.” Calwern pointed with one stubby finger. “It reads, ‘Here of old stood Yuireshanyaar, which is now hidden from the world.’”
Araevin glanced up to the Deneirrath. “Do you have any older maps of the Aglarondan peninsula here?”
“No, I checked already. The ancient empire of Unther was the first human realm to settle the peninsula’s shores, and this is the oldest Untheric text we have in the library.” Calwern rubbed his chin. “But there is something here that puzzles me, Master Teshurr. Why does the map say that Yuireshanyaar used to be here, but has been hidden? If one hides something in a certain place, it is still there, isn’t it?”
“That is odd,” murmured Araevin. “I might expect it to say ‘Here of old stood Yuireshanyaar,’ which would imply that the realm was there and has now fallen. Or I might expect it to say, ‘Here is Yuireshanyaar, which is now hidden.’ Which interpretation is correct?”
Calwern shrugged awkwardly. “I fear my understanding of Untheric may be insufficient to the task.”
“It could be an error on the part of the cartographer,” Araevin offered. He stood up from the desk and paced around the room, thinking. Morthil, the star elf-whatever that was-inherited the spellbooks and magical devices of Grand Mage Ithraides, hundreds of years after the coronal of Arcorar moved against the Dlardrageths. The last anyone recorded, Morthil returned to his people, taking Ithraides’s lore with him. The star elves lived in Yuireshanyaar, and here was a map claiming that Yuireshanyaar might once have stood in the forests of Aglarond.
“Does anything of Yuireshanyaar survive in Aglarond?” he wondered aloud.
“Tel’Quessir have lived in Aglarond for a long time,” Ilsevele observed. “It is said that many half-elves still live in the Yuirwood.”
“I have heard stories of old ruins and strange magic in Aglarond’s forests,” Calwern offered. “It is entirely possible that better records of Yuireshanyaar are preserved in the Simbul’s realm.”
“I am inclined to think so too,” Araevin said. He looked to Calwern. “Can I have a copy made of that map, and translations of the captions and names? By tomorrow?”
The cleric nodded. “Of course, Master Teshurr. I will set our scribes to the task immediately.”
Ilsevele looked over Araevin’s shoulder at the map with some interest. “So, how far is Aglarond from here?” she asked.