They packed up their camp and climbed back aboard the Sprint. Moments later they lifted off, gained sufficient altitude to put them well above the trees, and began flying south into the mist and gloom of the Wilderun.
They set a course that took them toward the center of the valley, and after a few hours they caught sight of Spire’s Reach. Its rock tower was at first no more than a vague outline in the curtains of brume, distant and indistinct. But within the hour, they had drawn near enough that they could make out its rugged features. By then the earlier drizzle had turned into a steady downpour and the day had become black and threatening. Fighting wind and rain, they huddled in the Sprint’s narrow cockpit, their cloaks wrapped close about them, their shoulders hunched and heads lowered.
Aphen was piloting, hands moving swiftly over the controls in an effort to keep their flight smooth and steady. She was thinking it would be nice if she could stop being wet all the time, that it seemed as if she was never dry anymore when she was in the air, only cold and damp.
But it was what it was, and within the next half hour they had reached their destination, sweeping past the craggy heights of Spire’s Reach and then swinging back again while searching the entire base of the pinnacle. It was Cymrian who saw what he believed to be the opening in the rock they were looking for while they were making their second pass, and on bringing the Sprint down for a closer look, Aphen was inclined to agree.
They landed not far away, setting down in a grassy flat at the base of the peak. They took a moment to prepare before disembarking. Cymrian added a few more weapons to his arsenal, Arling handed out waterskins, and then they set out to look for the entrance into the base of Spire’s Reach.
They found it quickly, and it was immediately recognizable to Aphenglow as the opening the Elfstone magic had revealed. Cymrian had brought along a trio of smokeless torches he had found aboard the Sprint; he handed one to each of the sisters and kept the third.
“Let me take the lead,” Aphen said. “That way I can make sure we are going in the right direction.”
Aphen wasn’t entirely sure that she remembered the right direction, but she pretended she did. Cymrian was back in his protector mode, if indeed he had ever left it, the best trained of the three in any case should they encounter trouble. But she had use of the Elfstones, and their magic would prove to be the more formidable weapon in almost any situation.
So they passed through the opening, leaving the rain and the forest behind, and found themselves in chilly darkness. Aphen led with Arling following her and Cymrian acting as rearguard. Their torches cast hazy, narrow beams into the gloom to reveal a rough-hewn entry chamber and a maze of tunnels leading away from it. After brushing the rain from their cloaks and giving Cymrian a moment to search for any sign of hidden traps and snares, Aphen chose the passageway she believed the Elfstones had revealed in their vision and the three companions set out.
They walked for a long time through the tunnels without reaching an end. Aphen was surprised to discover she remembered almost all the twists and turns she was meant to take. Only once was she required to employ the Elfstones to reassure herself she was making was the right choice. The rest of the time her memory was good enough that using the Elfstones wasn’t necessary.
Even so, she was carrying them in her hand now, ready to help Cymrian if matters suddenly turned dangerous. They had come so far and gone through so much that she was not about to let anything stop them now.
It was this determination that led her to reflect on the fact she was leading her sister to the very fate she had promised to save her from. She could pretend otherwise, could say she was only doing what they had all agreed on and what Arling herself had decided, but the end result would be the same. When they reached the Bloodfire and the Ellcrys seed was immersed, Arling’s future was as certain as the rising of the sun. She would become the Ellcrys and cease to be human.
And Aphenglow would have helped bring that about.
She sensed this was wrong—a twinge of recognition amid all the thoughts and deliberations on why it was both right and necessary. She sensed it even while telling herself she shouldn’t. It made her want to turn around and go back in spite of everything that insisted she do otherwise. It made her want to abandon reason and resignation and give in to the white-hot mix of emotions she was experiencing.
The guilt that tore at her deep inside.
The despair that filled her at the thought of losing Arling forever.
Turn back. Give up on all this.