Heaven knows what we would have done without it. It was only as an after thought that it occurred to me to ask the priests to summon a sylph so that I could bind it into the lynx paw I keep tied about my neck.
I don’t see how we could have done it without. Again, the Fates laugh at us and take us for fools and pawns.
So the sylph, Scirocco, had carried us to the summit of Griffin Mountain and together we crept into the cave we found there. After his time with the tribesmen of Balazar, Kulbrast took the lead and scouted the cavern to see what lay within the stygian crags and threatening maw.
We were soon to find out. This cave was now the eyrie for the pride of griffins we had seen flying around the peak, and who had attacked us and feasted upon two of our horses. Our blades were wetted on the blood of the animals who lived there, side-by-side we stood – and I say with pride how it pleased me to be next to Orstanor and Kulbrast. Stagnant pools and stalactites were found in the cave,until at last...
We came to a shaft that had clearly been drilled down through the mountain by nothing other than magical means. At the head of the well there were words engraved into the rocks, words of an ancient Aldryami dialect. Silver Running, an elven scout who adventured with us, could make sense of the occasional word and identified the glyphs that spelt out the name of Tobosta Greenbow and so we knew we were close to our goal. The shaft was too narrow for Scirroco to take us down, but fortunately the same narrowness would make the climb easier and so I elected to go down first with the others following close behind.
The climb was a long one and easy at start but an overhang at the bottom caused me some difficulty, though eventually I found myself at the bottom, with Kulbrast close behind.
Without much-ado we lit a torch to see where we were.
“Orstanor, are you coming down?” I called up.
“Nay, not I,” answered Orstanor. “Call if there is danger.”
This was just as well, since there was barely room for Kulbrast and I, let alone another. Though secretly I wished that Orstanor was with me since we had been friends for a long time and Kulbrast was still little more than a stranger to me, and a stranger from a strange land at that.
But at the bottom of this well I was, and with a torch lit, we could see a short passageway leading off and so Kulbrast and myself readied ourselves and made off down the cold, dark cavern with excitement and apprehension heavy on our hearts.
There it was. So ignominious a resting place. Just a bare slab of rock for a pillow. The ancient sword of Alakoring Dragonbreaker – the Windsword itself.
“Now,” said I to Kulbrast, “we have a dilemma – you are of the tribe of Alakoring and so have a good claim to be the one to lift it. But the Windsword is also an heirloom of all Orlanthi and so I too may, by right, be candidate to take it.”
“This is true,” said Kulbrast rubbing his chin. “So I think the correct action would be for both of us to take hold of the hilt together and we should both carry it from here.”
These were wise words and good.
Being cautious chaps, however, we thought it eminently possible the sword may have a guardian spirit and we prepared ourselves by calling on magics that would armour our souls against the spirits and then leant forward and, together, grasped the ancient Windsword.
Guardian, indeed!
Enchanted in the blade was a spirit that sought to either kill us or goad us into taming it. I saw Kulbrast transfixed as I was; both unable to let go the sword, both unwilling to. I was faring poorly and I could feel my body weakening under the pressure of the ghost’s attack.
Then suddenly, with a burst of energy, I was thrown back against the wall of the sword chamber. I rolled over and looked up to see Kulbrast standing there. Still firmly holding Alakoring’s sword.
It seemed the sword had made its choice – to go home in the hands of its own.