The masked witches

The berserker glowered but for a welcome change didn t argue.

The thorn-tree guardian lowered the plug back into the hole once Vandar was inside. Descending, Aoth and his comrades soon came to the source of the glow: a sort of rippling curtain of light.

To Aoth s a

Everything changed.

Aoth was still climbing downstairs, but his surroundings weren t earth anymore. They were black stone: unfinished, but glossy as though polished. Veins of gold and rubies, or something like them, glowed in the rock, providing additonal illumination. The intricacy of the patterns and the richness of the colors were fascinating. Aoth knew he had to remain alert, but couldn t resist drinking in the particularly gorgeous detail for just a heartbeat or two. And then that one over there

Something bumped into his back and pitched him forward. He staggered down the steps and struggled to keep from falling. The effort snapped him out of his daze.

He turned and looked up at his companions. As they stepped through the curtain, each faltered and caught his or her breath as Aoth no doubt had, transfixed by the preternatural beauty before them.

It was a beauty they shared. Cera and Jhesrhi had always been beautiful in Aoth s eyes, but although he couldn t say how any one feature had changed, each now seemed as flawless and as radiant as a goddess. Even Vandar appeared to have the perfect musculature and keen, dauntless air of a hero in some lying bard s witless story.

Choschax wasn t lying, Aoth said, as much to rouse his companions as anything. His people do live in the Feywild, not in the Shadowfell.

The Shadowfell was the world of darkness, death, and decay that Jhesrhi and Gaedy

It s wonderful, Cera breathed.

Don t let the wonders put you to sleep, said Aoth.

Don t you, she replied. You can see them better than we can.

Nobody will let himself slip into a trance, Vandar said. Now, can we keep moving? We don t want to get caught on these steps.

You re right, Aoth said, we don t. As he led his companions onward, making sure not to look at anything for too long lest its beauty draw him in, he noticed an unpleasant absence in his head. Apparently, shifting to a different plane of existence blocked his psychic co

The intruders reached the little antechamber at the foot of the stairs without incident. A cavern opened out before them. There, magic, the toil of artisans, or a combination of both had sculpted much of the gleaming black stone with its luminous multicolored veins into arches, balconies, windows, battlements, and turrets. They stood as ornate and as imposing as the fa ade of a zulkir s palace. The splendor made Aoth want to stand and gawk. He gave his head a shake to clear it. There might well be sentries watching the entrance to the vault, and he and his comrades needed to focus on that.

Ready? he whispered.

Yes, Jhesrhi said. She murmured charms of concealment, and her magic stung across his skin like icy needles.

My turn, Cera said. Her lips moved in silent prayer.

To Aoth, it seemed paradoxical to ask the god of the sun to help you hide. But the sun wasn t just the world s great source of warmth and light. Its motion also defined the stately progression of time, and Amaunator gave some of his clerics the capacity to tamper with an observer s subjective perception of time. Cera wanted to compress the time it would take to scurry across the space ahead to the briefest instant, so that even if an observer had the ability to pierce Jhesrhi s veils, the intruders would appear and disappear so quickly that their presence wouldn t register.

That should do it, the priestess said.

Aoth took a breath. Let s go, he said and ran out into the open space.

He made it in three strides, and then a jolt of pain staggered him.

From his vantage point in the antechamber at the foot of the stairs, Aoth hadn t been able to see the big, stylized, staring eyes carved high on the walls of the vault beyond. No doubt that was as those who d fashioned the magical mantrap intended it to be. The pupil of each hieroglyph glowed red like the pupil of a cyclops s eye, and their gazes pressed down on him like a prodigious weight.

As he and his comrades lurched and stumbled, trying to keep their feet, he spotted the battlements directly above the arch they d just passed through. A pair of cyclopes stood there with crossbows in hand, ideally positioned to pick off intruders immobilized by the magic of the eye glyphs.

Which was to say, ideally positioned to pick off Aoth and his companions. Waves of heat were rippling over his skin, which likely meant that countermagic was burning his enchantment of invisibility away.

He had to move. He slapped at two of the tattoos under his mail. The first released a tingling surge of strength that washed away some of the pain. The second was a protective charm that, he hoped, would deflect some of the power of the eyes. Still feeling like he was carrying an enormous weight, he staggered one step, and then another.

So did Cera. Keeper, she gasped, Keeper, Keeper, Keeper.

Jhesrhi spoke in one of the tongues of Sky Home. A cold, howling wind sprang up at the intruders backs to shove them along.

The wind helped, but Vandar still collapsed to his knees and couldn t rise unaided. Aoth lurched around, grabbed him by the forearm, and heaved him to his feet.

It seemed to take forever to cross the courtyardlike space and duck into one of the smallest doorways. As soon as they did, the pain and feeling of relentless pressure disappeared. Aoth would have liked nothing better than to lean against the wall and catch his breath, but he forced himself to lead the others far enough down the passage that he was sure the cyclopes sentries couldn t see them. At that point, intricately carved stonework gave way to something that, except for the level floor, might almost have been a natural tu

Well, Cera panted, her round face shiny with sweat. That was interesting. But let s hope there are no other little details that Choschax neglected to mention.

That was well done back there, Jhesrhi said stiffly. My enchantments burned away fast. It was yours that kept us hidden.

The eyes were designed to tear away veils of illusion, Cera replied. We were lucky the Keeper s gift wasn t precisely that.

Vandar turned to Aoth. Thank you for helping me up, the berserker said, albeit grudgingly.

I had to, said Aoth. If the guards had caught you, they would have started looking for the rest of us.

Vandar scowled.

Aoth sighed. By the Black Flame, lodge master, that was a joke, he said. Well, mostly. Obviously, we re all in this together, and we all look after one another as needed. He looked around. Is everyone ready to move?

The others indicated they were.

We re in a small tu

They prowled onward through what soon proved to be a maze of passages. In many respects, including the seductive beauty that kept snagging Aoth s attention, it was strange; but in others, it reminded him of the service areas of any palace. Goblins snored on pallets in a dormitory-like space. Tools some shaped so peculiarly that their intended use was a mystery leaned in corners or hung from pegs and hooks on the walls. And in a cluttered, filthy kitchen intended to feed the slaves, not their owners, the gutted carcasses of enormous rats dangled by their feet from the ceiling, and an iron cauldron steamed and bubbled on a bed of coals in a hearth.