"How do we get to the House of Gems?" Ghleanna asked.

"Through the dwarven dungeons," Beriand responded. "They connect to an isolated tower in the House of Gems. The tower is sealed from the outside, so the dungeons are the only way in. I must warn you, though-the undercity corridors are filled with orcs and undead. In fact, so many of the creatures were using the dungeons as a highway to this part of the city that I sealed the entrance. Rest here for the night to refresh your strength before challenging their numbers."

"In the morning, we will direct you to the doors," said Faeril. "Beriand sealed them with the Glyph of Mystra. Before you leave, study the book lying open on the altar. It contains the Word of Mystra, a command so powerful that it can be learned only through study, not by simply hearing it. Knowing the Word of Mystra will grant you entry through any portal marked with the goddess's symbol. Doors marked with other glyphs, however, require different words of opening."

Words of opening. The Mythal. Magical gates. The Ring of Calling. As Kestrel lay on her cot that night, her head swam with it all. This morning, her sole thought had been leaving Phlan. Well, she'd left it all right-and now only hoped to get back alive. How had everything spun out of her control so quickly?

Damn Nat's firewine!

At sunrise, supplied with directions and rations from the clerics, the foursome left the elven shelter and hiked to the entrance of the dwarven undercity. Dawn proved a good time to travel the city's surface-the sunlight chased away undead wanderers, while the hour was too early for much activity on the part of humanoids. The few orcs they did spot en route were easily avoided.

The daylight, however, did little to lift the pall that lay over the ruined city. An aura of tarnished greatness hung about Myth Drannor, its former dignity reduced to rubble along with its structures. Everywhere Kestrel looked, flawed beauty met her gaze: crumbling arches, cracked columns, decapitated statues, dead or dying trees. The tales she'd heard of the fallen elven capital had described treasure there for the taking by anyone brave enough to face its new denizens. However, even to her rogue's sensibilities, looting this city seemed less like robbing from the rich than stealing from a cripple.

The party spotted the double doors inscribed with Mystra's star symbol. They approached slowly, this time anticipating the thunderous Word of Opening rending the air.

"Aodhfionn!"

The command, as yesterday spoken by the mysterious otherworldly voice, roared like the surf pounding on the shore. Kestrel started at the force as vibrations echoed in the air. Hinges too long in need of oil protested strenuously. The doors to the undercity swung open to reveal a dark corridor.

Smooth, perfectly planed rock walls lined the ten-foot-wide opening. Within, narrower passages broke off in three directions. Lit torches punctuated the walls at fixed intervals, confirming that some sort of humanoid occupants passed through regularly. When she'd heard these dungeons were of dwarven construction, Kestrel had feared she and the others would have to stoop to move through them. Fortunately, the ceiling was at least six and a half feet high. Durwyn might have to duck in places to keep his helmet from scraping the roof, but otherwise it appeared that the foursome would find their movement generally unhindered.

Kestrel waited for someone else to enter first. She might have agreed to accompany these misguided do-gooders on their suicide mission, but she had no plans to stick her neck out an inch further than she had to. She'd do what she could to keep the party alive and intact-thus improving her own chances of survival-but her commitment ended there.

"Go ahead, Corran," she prompted. The holy knight seemed to have appointed himself the leader of their little group anyway. "I'll be right behind you."

"I assume that's supposed to reassure me," he said, "but I can't help wondering if I'll feel a knife in my back."

Don't tempt me, she thought. Aloud she said, "Only if you keep us standing here much longer. The sooner we go in, the sooner we get this over with."

"Let us enter, then." Sword in hand, Corran strode forward into the flickering torchlight "May Tyr guide our steps-and our hearts."

"Whatever."

The two women entered after the paladin, with Durwyn bringing up the rear. Corran chose the path that broke off to the right Kestrel thought they should have paused at the fork and listened for clues to what lay ahead in each direction, but she didn't care enough to speak up, and she didn't feel like arguing with him this early in the morning. If he wanted to believe that his god guided his steps, that was fine with her-she just wished he and Durwyn would make less noise clanking around the stone corridor in their armor. They must have alerted the entire undercity population to their presence already.

When they reached the third fork, she couldn't hold her tongue anymore. "Do you have any idea where you're going?" she asked.

He stopped, turning to face her. "Do you?"

"No, but it might help to listen ahead instead of just parading through." No sooner had she spoken than she thought she heard a voice murmuring in the passage to their right.

He opened his mouth to respond, but she covered it with her hand. "Hush!" She cocked her head, trying to make out the words.

"What do you hear?" Ghleanna whispered.

It was a low, guttural voice. An orc? Probably, but she wanted to find out for sure. "Wait here." At the mage's raised brows, she added, "I won't go far."

She crept down the right passageway, moving soundlessly and keeping to the shadows created by the flickering torchlight. After a few dozen yards, she still couldn't see the speakers-she'd determined there were two of them- but she could hear them clearly, and the low rumble of many voices still further down the corridor.

"Ugly wizard need more guards. Blood Spear Tribe come today. Meet here later."

"Broken Skull Tribe show who boss."

"No! Ugly wizard say no fight each other."

They were orcs, all right. Either that, or the stupidest-sounding humans she'd ever overheard. She padded back to the fork, then trod about thirty yards down the other passage. She held her breath and listened closely but heard nothing but the crackle of torches. She returned to the group.

"A couple tribes of orcs are gathering in the right passage," she said, deliberately leaving out the mention of the "ugly wizard"-one of the scarred mages they'd heard about? Knowing Corran, he would want to confront the spellcaster immediately. "I vote we go to the left."

The others concurred. They headed down the left corridor, passing several solidly built wooden doors inscribed with glyphs-all of them different, none of them recognizable to anyone in the party. Kestrel tried to pick the locks of the first two doors, but discovered them magically, not mechanically, sealed.

"They must require those other Words of Opening the clerics talked about," Durwyn said.

"You think?" Kestrel retorted. Leave it to Durwyn to state the obvious.

Several hundred yards farther, they came upon a doorway that glittered in the torchlight as they approached, as if it held a door of glass. When they reached it, they discovered the surface thick with frost and crystals.

Ghleanna extended her hand to touch the surface. "It's ice. A solid sheet of ice."

"Strange," Kestrel said. "I wonder what's inside?"

Durwyn hefted his axe. "Let's find out." Before Kestrel could stop him, he swung the axe so hard it created an ear-splitting crash that echoed throughout the passageway. A huge web of cracks spread across the ice from the center of his strike. A second blow sent large chunks of ice flying into the room beyond.