Condemnation by Richard Baker Page A

snowcapped peaks from Hlaungadath’s streets, towered up over them like a rampart of night. The shadow walk also made light of the most difficult terrain in their path. Without hesitation Pharaun stepped out over a sheer ravine as if it simply did not exist. The magic of his spell and the strange plane they traversed brought his foot down securely on the far side of the obstacle. Climbing the long, rugged slopes leading up into the mountains was no more work than stepping from stone to stone across a stream.
    “Tell me, Pharaun,” Quenthel said after a time, “why did we crawl through miles of dangerous Underdark passages to reach Ched Nasad, when you might have used this spell to shorten our journey?”
    Halisstra could sense the ire hidden in the Baenre’s voice, even through the murk and gloom of the Shadow Fringe.
    “Three reasons, fair Quenthel,” Pharaun replied, not taking his eyes from the unseen path he followed. “First, you did not ask me to do any such thing. Second, the wizards of Ched Nasad arranged certain defenses against intrusions of this sort. Finally, as I said before, the Fringe is a dangerous place. I only suggested this after we all agreed that marching for months across the sun-blasted surface world presented an even less appealing prospect.”
    Quenthel seemed to consider the wizard’s words, while mountains reeled and gnarled black trees began to appear around them.
    “In the future,” the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith said, “I shall expect you to volunteer useful information or suggestions in a timely manner. Your reticence in advancing ideas may cost us all our lives. Is that worth the meager pleasure you derive from knowing something we may not?”
    The Master of Sorcere’s teeth gleamed in his dark face, and he continued without making a reply. For some time he devoted his attention to navigating the Fringe. As Pharaun was under normal circumstances the most garrulous of the company, the effort of concentrating on his spell left the small party of dark elves unusually silent. They fell into a watchful march, winding quietly along in single file behind the wizard, as the immeasurable journey through the darkness stretched out into what might have been hours or even days. Halisstra found herself beginning to consider the very curious notion that this was the real world, the true substance of things, and the bland mundane rigidity of her own world was the illusion. She found that she did not care for that thought at all.
    After a long time, Pharaun raised his hand and called a halt. They stood on a small gray stone bridge, arching over a deep gully through which trickled a dark, bubbling stream. Nearby the black ramparts of an abandoned city jutted into the lightless sky, a place that seemed more like a fortress than a town, its thick walls pierced by turret-guarded gates.
    “We’re about halfway to our destination,” Pharaun said. “I suggest half an hour’s rest, and maybe a meal from what stores we have. We should be able to replenish our supplies when we reach Mantol-Derith.”
    Ryld gestured at the empty castle nearby and said, “What is that place?”
    “That?” Pharaun glanced over his shoulder. “Who knows? Maybe it’s the echo of a surface city in our world, or maybe it’s a reflection of some other reality all together. The Shadow is like that.”
    The company huddled by the low stone wall of the bridge and made a dreary repast from their dwindling provisions. The ever present chill of the place leeched away the warmth of Halisstra’s body, as if the stones beneath her hungered for her very life. The gloom smothered their spirits, deadening any attempt at conversation, making it hard to even think with any degree of acuteness. When the time came to set off again, Halisstra was surprised by the sheer lethargy that had crept into her limbs. She had little desire to do anything except sink back down to the ground and lie still, wrapped in shadows. Only with a fierce and