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Kestrel grabbed his arm before he could swing again. She fought to keep her voice muted. "What in the Abyss are you doing?" she hissed. "Every orc in this dungeon will hear you!"
Confusion spread across Durwyn's features. "I thought you wanted to-"
"He might as well finish now," Corran said. "One more blow, and we'll be able to get through."
Durwyn looked to Kestrel as if for permission. Corran was right-if breaking through was going to attract attention from the orcs, the alarm had already sounded. She supposed it was even possible that they were far enough away that the orcs wouldn't be able to determine the origin of the noise. Besides, for all they knew, the path to the House of Gems might lie beyond this frozen doorway. She shrugged her reluctant assent.
The warrior struck a third time, shattering enough of the door to create a man-sized hole. They kicked aside hunks and shards of ice, then grabbed a torch from one of the wall sconces. Corran thrust it through the opening and peered in.
"It's a small room," he said. "Maybe ten or twelve feet square. Looks like there's no one inside." He crawled through, followed by the others.
Once inside, Kestrel shivered with cold. In the center of the room-taking up most of the room, in fact-was a large circular rune inscribed on the stone floor. Its intricate knot-work pattern was outlined in white frost. In the center, about waist-high, floated a golden sphere encrusted with icicles.
She crossed to the levitating sphere, withdrew one of her daggers, and prodded it. The sphere did not move. She tapped harder, but her effort yielded only the clank of steel against ice. Finally, she put the dagger away and pushed against the sphere with all her strength. It felt as icy as it looked, but it would not budge.
"Let me help," Durwyn offered. The big warrior threw all of his weight against the floating object, but it remained just as firmly in place.
"I give up," Kestrel said. She glanced at their other companions. Ghlea
"Ghlea
The mage approached, as did Kestrel and Durwyn. The wall held an engraved formation of four diamond shapes arranged in a column, with a vertical line bisecting them. A ruby was embedded in the lowest point of the bottom diamond.
"I've never seen its like before," Ghlea
Corran traced the edge of the ruby with his index finger. "I tried removing the gem, but it's wedged in there pretty tight."
"Not exactly your area of expertise, I imagine," said Kestrel. "Let me try." She removed a pointed metal file from one of her belt pouches and tried to insert it between the gem and the wall to pry out the ruby. Despite her best efforts, the stone remained firmly in place-now surrounded by scratch marks.
"Apparently not your area of expertise either," Corran remarked.
She shot him a dirty look. The failure of her thieving skills bothered her enough-she didn't need Sir Self-Righteous rubbing it in. "It must be magically frozen in place, like everything else in this room," she said stiffly. "Otherwise I would have had no problem removing it."
Ghlea
Kestrel hoped the others proved this benign.
After a while, the party entered an area of the dungeons that appeared less frequented by the orcs. Fewer torches lined these walls, and many of them had sputtered out or been extinguished. The light became dim enough that Corran removed one of the unlit torches from its sconce, lighted it off the next burning torch they came upon, and carried it with them. Soon, the passageway's illumination grew so bad that the others followed suit.
As they neared a chamber with an open doorway, a sudden voice from within startled them. "Light? Oh-whoever you are, I beseech you! Please bring your light this way!"
They exchanged glances, knowing that their torches would reveal them to the speaker well before they could see him.
"A trap?" Kestrel mouthed.
"I don't think so," Corran responded softly. "If he means to ambush us, why alert us to his presence?" More loudly, he called out, "We're on our way."
Corran entered the chamber first. "Oh!"
"What?" Kestrel darted in after him. "Oh!" she echoed. "Well, I'll be damned…"
In the corner of the room stood a man-or at least, half a man. He looked ordinary enough from the torso up, with a medium build, long brown hair, and penetrating dark eyes. From the waist down, the unfortunate fellow was embedded in an enormous boulder. His body appeared to simply end, consumed by the rock.
Behind her, Kestrel heard Durwyn and Ghlea
"If you can believe it, a lovers' quarrel," the man responded. "I was exploring these dungeons with my fiancee, a fellow sorcerer, when we fell into an argument. The subject was so trivial that I can't even remember what the fight was about, but in the heat of the moment I renounced my love for Ozama. She flew into a rage and cast a spell that sealed me in this boulder until I solved a riddle:
A quest of love
Ends with me,
Yet I am made
Endlessly.
If I drop,
I say my name,
If I touch rock,
Freedom gain."
Kestrel nearly snorted. "That old thing? Your sweetheart changed the ending, but the first half of it must have circulated through half the taverns between here and Waterdeep last year."
"And all the courts the year before," Corran added.
The man's face lit up, his eyes darting from one party member to the next. "Do you really know the answer?"
"A ring," Durwyn said.
Kestrel crossed the room and tapped her silver ring against the rock. A mighty crack! rent the air as the boulder broke into pieces. The long-trapped wizard immediately fell to his knees, his legs unused to supporting his weight.
"A ring," he murmured, rubbing the atrophied muscles of his calves through the fabric of his purple robes. "So much lost time over such a simple answer." He remained absorbed in his own thoughts, an expression of regret settling onto his angular face. His musings, however, lasted but a few moments before he left the mournful thoughts behind and addressed the foursome. "My name is Jarial. Words aren't enough to thank you for releasing me."
Corran introduced the party, then asked how long Jarial had been trapped in the boulder.
"Since the Year of the Arch-1353 by the Dale calendar," he said. "What year is it now? There's no way to tell time in here."
"The Year of the Gauntlet. 1369." Kestrel soberly studied him. Even though Jarial was a sorcerer, she felt sorry for him wasting so much of his life trapped alone in the darkness. He appeared only twenty or so, but he had to be much older. And the riddle that had imprisoned him had become so common while he endured endless isolation-even Durwyn had known the answer! "You mean this Ozama woman just left you down here for sixteen years and never came back?"
"I believe she meant to return," Jarial said. "Something must have happened to her. She was angry but not vindictive enough to leave me here forever. We came here in the first place seeking a magical item called the Wizard's Torc, said to lie in the lair of a dark naga somewhere in these dungeons. I fear she continued looking for it alone and met with misfortune."
"Or found it and left you here to rot while she kept it for herself," Kestrel said. "How did you survive, anyway? I mean, excuse me for asking, but why didn't you starve to death, or get killed by the creatures dwelling down here?" She noted that his jaw was not even roughened by stubble, nor his clothes frayed by sixteen years of constant wear.