The Glass Prison

"An evil known to us is once again stirring.''

Mela

Whitlock reached down to where his shield hung on his saddlebag and slowly strapped it to his arm. never taking his eyes off the elven spirit.

"I ca

The warrior shifted his stance. Whitlock wondered if the elf was preparing for something. Perhaps, however, he was just particularly uncomfortable with what he was saying. It was difficult to tell.

"Does it have anything to do with us?" Mela

"More than you know."

"Mela

"There is arcane magic born of this wood," the warrior said to Whitlock. "The spirits of elves, ancient when humans first came to the Dales, walk here still. Dragons, elven magic, monstrous creatures, restless dead-the woods are mysterious and deadly."

Was that supposed to be a threat?

Mela

"We are on a quest," she told him. "Our family has an ancient curse on it, and we think we know how to lift it."

"Mela

The warrior looked at Mela

"The curse strikes down members of my family with no apparent pattern." Only now did Mela

"What is the only way?" the warrior asked with an ancient, resonant voice.

"That's no business of yours," Whitlock said, reaching slowly for his sword hilt.

"A wizard," Mela

The warrior paused for a moment, then pointed to the west and said, "Kirthol Erdel”

"What?" Whitlock asked, his hand grasping the hilt of his weapon tightly. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward.

Mela

The horses shifted nervously, stamping on the ground. Mela

"Signs and omens show nothing but dark portents for the days ahead," the elf said. "Disturbances in the flow of magic have brought me back here to the corporeal world. Since my return, I have learned of ill tidings from Kirthol Erdel speaking of large and frequent bands of creatures you call gnolls gathering and attacking whatever they come on."

Mela

"I do not know," came the response, "but they seem to be directed by someone."

Again the warrior seemed to shift his position. Whitlock saw his hands twitch and readied himself, but the elf didn't reach for his weapons, so Whitlock still didn't draw his own sword.

"Can't you tell us more than that?" Mela

The warrior pointed again, toward the east. "Chare'en."

Mela

When Mela

She paused and drew a breath, still not looking into her brother's disapproving eyes. He did nothing to stop her, though.

"No, Whitlock," Mela

The warrior stared at her in silence. "Chare'en was the ancient sorcerer who put the curse on our family."

Again, the warrior's hands seemed to twitch. "He died long ago and was buried in a crypt hidden by an avalanche," Mela

"Or how much longer we have left," she added.

The warrior stood silently watching her.

"So, are you saying," Whitlock asked, "that this old sorcerer's crypt is in the Thunder Peaks?"

The elf did not reply.

Mela

"Tilverton's at the northern edge of the Thunder Peaks," Whitlock told her. "We could make for there from here by staying on the main roads Rauthauvyr's Road meets up with the Moonsea Ride north of here, then heads west."

"That doesn't seem to be very direct," Mela

"I'd rather stick to the main roads-particularly while we're here in these damned – "he looked at the elven warrior-"I mean, in these woods."

Whitlock began formulating further plans but was away into the darkness that surrounded them. The ground where he stood showed no sign of him ever being there at all.

"Vheod?" Whitlock repeated and furrowed his brow. He looked to his sister. "What does that mean?"

Mela

Chapter Two

The portal from the varrangoins' tower opened on this side in a space between the trunks of two oak trees, with their intertwined branches forming the top of the "doorway." A breeze tossed Vheod's long hair, and he shivered in the soft touch of its caress. Here on this world-wherever it was-the air was not abrasive. It didn't tear at his skin as he moved through it as it had all live life in the clutches of the Abyss. The sounds that surrounded him-calling birds, chirping insects, scurrying animals-all seemed so non-threatening. In his home, such an environments always made a wise man suspicious, but here? How could he know?

Vheod looked down at himself as he took a few steps forward. The magical trip had seemed instantaneous, and he looked none the worse for wear. At some point, while he wasn't looking, the Taint had slithered to the underside of his forearm, near his wrist. Its shape resembled a contorted face with narrow eyes and a thin, broad mouth. Tipped points on the sides might have been ears, or they might have been horns. As he examined it, the red mark shifted, the face broadening and the stiff line of the mouth bending into a smile. Vheod couldn't decide whether it was a smile of triumph or a leer of mockery.

In the dim light, trees heavy with leaves reached out in all directions as if searching for the intruder he knew himself to be. The first reaction that came to was that he didn't belong here. The colors were too calm, the sounds too sweet, and the smells too pure for someone accustomed to the horrors of the Abyss.

Cautiously, Vheod began to explore the immediate area in which he'd arrived. Smooth grass rustled under each step, but he soon found it quite easy to move silently through the wilderness. Ahead the sounds of ru