Realms of the Arcane - Brian M. Thomsen [64]
The door beyond had no lock or fastening, and she pushed it inward with her foot, smelling the familiar damp, earthy smell that always clung to the resting place of her forebears.
There was the long, slender casket of Haerindra, the mother she'd never known. Beyond it, the high-canopied tomb of Orbrar, and to the right, the great black coffin of her father.
The Stormstaff suddenly hummed, a deep groan that was echoed by the black stone that enclosed her father's ashes-and Aerindel nearly turned and fled. This had never happened before.
A light-a faint glow of the air, not a spark or flame- occurred suddenly in front of her, in the open space between the three caskets she knew. By its brightening radiance she saw other coffins, stretching back into dark, vaulted distances… and the source of the light: a blue-white star glowing on a simple stone marker.
The altar of Mystra. It had been a long time-too long-since she'd knelt here to pray for guidance. She went to her knees in a rush. Drops of blood from her hand fell upon the stone and startled her by flaring instantly into smoke that drifted around her, and then faded away as abruptly as it had come.
"Mother of Mysteries," she whispered, "I have neglected you and failed in my diligence at crafting your holy Art of magic… but I need you now, and am come to beg forgiveness and plead for guidance. Holy Mystra, aid me!"
"Aid is at hand," a faint whisper promptly came out of the darkness to her right. Aerindel was so startled that she almost dropped the staff.
A moment later, she realized that the staff was sinking,… sinking into the solid stone she was kneeling on!
She tugged on it, but was as overmatched as if she'd been trying to hold back a surging stallion. The staff moved powerfully downward, burning her clutching fingers as it slid between them, going down into stone that had no hole nor mark… and was cool and hard under her fingertips after it was gone.
Mystra had taken-reclaimed-the Stormstaff. What sort of aid was this?
Kneeling in the near-darkness, Aerindel heard the faint whisper again: "Set aside fear, and put me on."
She peered into the gloom, seeking the source of that softest of voices. It repeated its message, and by the rasping words she located it: a crown, lying atop her father's coffin.
A chill touched her heart. The black stone resting-place of Thabras Stormstaff had been bare of all but dust when she'd first looked at it, moments ago.
And yet she knew this crown. She remembered seeing her father wearing it once or twice, when she was young. Aerindel frowned. It was no part of the regalia of Dusklake, and had disappeared before his death. So far as she knew, it had never been in the coffin of Thabras.
She stared at that black stone casket for a moment, considering, but knew she dared not try to open it, even if she'd commanded strength enough to shift its massive lid.
On the altar before her, the blue-white star flashed once and then started to fade. At the same time, the crown began to glow.
"Set aside fear, and put me on," the insistent whisper came again.
Aerindel knelt in the dark crypt and stared at the circlet, fear rising in her breast. What choice did she have? If she hesitated, fear might win, and send her running from this place-so she made her arms stretch forth without hesitation, and took up the crown.
It was cool in her hand, but not as heavy as it looked. It seemed to tingle slightly as she peered at it, found no markings nor gems, shrugged again-and settled it on her head.
All at once, she was shivering as a sudden cold wind seemed to blow through her head, and someone nearby-a woman, both desperate and furious-screamed, "No! You shall not have me!"
Her cry was drowned out in deep, exultant laughter, which bubbled up into the words, uttered in a different voice entirely, "Of course, I can also do-this."