stone. In the daylight of the study, the faint violet gleam in its heart was almost invisible. “Philaerin concealed the gemstone in an extradimensional,
space. I noticed the spell and dispelled it when we found his body. I do not know for certain, but it seems likely that the high mage deemed this too important to fall into enemy hands and hid it as quickly as he could.”
“A telkiira?” Seiveril looked up. Araevin handed him the lorestone, and the noble studied it, peering into its depths. “I have not seen one like this before. Do you have any idea what it holds?”
He passed the loregem to Ilsevele, who held it up between her thumb and forefinger and peered closely at it.
“No,” Araevin answered, shaking his head. “Philaerin never mentioned it before. I saw several other telkiira that he kept, but never that one.”
“Strange. I think there is lettering in the stone,” Ilsevele said. She looked closer. “Yes, there is. If you stare closely at the flicker in the depths of the gem, it seems to form itself into sigils or runes.”
“Be careful!” Araevin said. “Magic runes can hold terrible spells. I’d better have a look at that.”
“I know,” Ilsevele said, but she recoiled and quickly handed it back to Araevin. “It seems safe enough to handle, anyway. Are you sure you can spot any dangerous sigils before they’re triggered?”
“I know a spell or two that can unravel magical traps of that sort.” Araevin thought for a moment, and wove a spell of deciphering with a few adroit passes of his hand and whispered words of arcane power. Then he held the loregem up to his eye and looked closely.
At first he saw little more than a dark purple blur, speckled with glimmers of lighter violet from the inner facets of the stone. Then he caught sight of the strange inner gleam, and fixed his eye on that. Instantly the wavering, inconstant flicker grew sharp and clear, forming itself into the shape of a rune that Araevin knew: dramach. It was a rune of sealing, a potent defense against intrusion.
Runes and magical signs used as seals could often be bypassed or neutralized by naming them.
Should I proceed? he wondered. Philaerin may have locked this stone for good reason.
On the other hand he would be able to form a much better guess as to the significance of the telkiira if he viewed its contents.
Without looking away from the rune glowing in the stone’s depths, he said its name softly: “Dramach.”
The room whirled madly as he felt himself fall into
the gem.
Light exploded in his head as a procession of brilliant, burning symbols flashed before his eyes. He caught glimpses of thoughts and knowledge that were not his own, fragments of arcane formulae, images of people and places he did not knowa hoary, vine-grown tower in a black forest, a proud sun elf whose eyes gleamed green in a darkened room, a pale hand arranging three stones identical to the one he held in a wooden case, the sudden appearance of an even larger loregem, the sound of a dozen voices chanting together in some sort of rite. Then the burning symbols returned, pressing themselves indelibly into his mind one at a time, each searing a word of power into his brain.
“Araevin!” Ilsevele cried out in concern. Araevin blinked his eyes clear of the hurtful vision, and found himself sitting awkwardly on the floor, the telkiira gripped in his fist. “Araevin! Can you hear me? Are you hurt?”
He stirred slowly, gestured for patience, then said, “No, I am not hurt. The telkiira transferred its knowledge to me. The experience is a little unsettling.”
“You are fortunate that it was not trapped as you had feared,” Seiveril observed. He reached down and helped Araevin to his feet. “You frightened us, Araevin. You simply crumpled without a word. We thought you’d been enspelled.”
Araevin said, “Give me a moment. I will be fine.”
He gingerly felt his way over to the divan and sat down.
“What did you see in the
space. I noticed the spell and dispelled it when we found his body. I do not know for certain, but it seems likely that the high mage deemed this too important to fall into enemy hands and hid it as quickly as he could.”
“A telkiira?” Seiveril looked up. Araevin handed him the lorestone, and the noble studied it, peering into its depths. “I have not seen one like this before. Do you have any idea what it holds?”
He passed the loregem to Ilsevele, who held it up between her thumb and forefinger and peered closely at it.
“No,” Araevin answered, shaking his head. “Philaerin never mentioned it before. I saw several other telkiira that he kept, but never that one.”
“Strange. I think there is lettering in the stone,” Ilsevele said. She looked closer. “Yes, there is. If you stare closely at the flicker in the depths of the gem, it seems to form itself into sigils or runes.”
“Be careful!” Araevin said. “Magic runes can hold terrible spells. I’d better have a look at that.”
“I know,” Ilsevele said, but she recoiled and quickly handed it back to Araevin. “It seems safe enough to handle, anyway. Are you sure you can spot any dangerous sigils before they’re triggered?”
“I know a spell or two that can unravel magical traps of that sort.” Araevin thought for a moment, and wove a spell of deciphering with a few adroit passes of his hand and whispered words of arcane power. Then he held the loregem up to his eye and looked closely.
At first he saw little more than a dark purple blur, speckled with glimmers of lighter violet from the inner facets of the stone. Then he caught sight of the strange inner gleam, and fixed his eye on that. Instantly the wavering, inconstant flicker grew sharp and clear, forming itself into the shape of a rune that Araevin knew: dramach. It was a rune of sealing, a potent defense against intrusion.
Runes and magical signs used as seals could often be bypassed or neutralized by naming them.
Should I proceed? he wondered. Philaerin may have locked this stone for good reason.
On the other hand he would be able to form a much better guess as to the significance of the telkiira if he viewed its contents.
Without looking away from the rune glowing in the stone’s depths, he said its name softly: “Dramach.”
The room whirled madly as he felt himself fall into
the gem.
Light exploded in his head as a procession of brilliant, burning symbols flashed before his eyes. He caught glimpses of thoughts and knowledge that were not his own, fragments of arcane formulae, images of people and places he did not knowa hoary, vine-grown tower in a black forest, a proud sun elf whose eyes gleamed green in a darkened room, a pale hand arranging three stones identical to the one he held in a wooden case, the sudden appearance of an even larger loregem, the sound of a dozen voices chanting together in some sort of rite. Then the burning symbols returned, pressing themselves indelibly into his mind one at a time, each searing a word of power into his brain.
“Araevin!” Ilsevele cried out in concern. Araevin blinked his eyes clear of the hurtful vision, and found himself sitting awkwardly on the floor, the telkiira gripped in his fist. “Araevin! Can you hear me? Are you hurt?”
He stirred slowly, gestured for patience, then said, “No, I am not hurt. The telkiira transferred its knowledge to me. The experience is a little unsettling.”
“You are fortunate that it was not trapped as you had feared,” Seiveril observed. He reached down and helped Araevin to his feet. “You frightened us, Araevin. You simply crumpled without a word. We thought you’d been enspelled.”
Araevin said, “Give me a moment. I will be fine.”
He gingerly felt his way over to the divan and sat down.
“What did you see in the
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