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those who had attacked the Tower knew differently.
    “Araevin? Is that you?” Quastarte’s voice echoed from the passages outside.
    “I am here, Loremaster,” Araevin called. He stepped out
    of the armory and knelt beside Philaerin again. “I have
    found Philaerin And I have found what is missing.” The old sun elf entered the passageway and halted. “Is he—?”
    “Yes,” said Araevin. “He was trying to keep them from the shard.”
    “Ah, no,” Quastarte breathed as he hurried to the side of the Eldest, tears brimming in his eyes. “So that is what they were after, then. The Seldarine know what sort of evil they plan with it.”
    “They will need the other two pieces to use the device, won’t they?” Araevin asked.
    “Each shard is dangerous in its own right,” Quastarte said. “But in conjunction, the three shards together are terribly powerful. Almost one thousand years ago the joined crystal was used to destroy the defenses of Myth Ondath. Only five years past, the Harpers used the crystal to throw down the old defenses of Hellgate Keep and raze that fortress of evil. But each time the crystal is used for such a purpose, its three parts separate and hurl themselves across vast distances and into far planes. It took us two years to find this one piece after the Harpers used it against Ascalhorn.”
    And now it is gone.”
    Quastarte sighed and said, “We thought it would be safe here, if anywhere.”
    Araevin looked down at the fallen high mage on the pocked stone floor. Philaerin’s face was not peaceful in death. His teeth were bared in a rictus of agony, and his eyes were wide and staring. He reached down to compose the Eldest’s features, but as his hand neared Philaerin’s face, a thin, cold sensation of magic at work briefly kissed his fingertips.
    He drew back quickly and said, “Odd. There’s a spell on him.”
    Quastarte leaned close.
    “Hmm. Yes, I feel it too. A defense of his? Or some curse of his enemies?”
    “It was not very powerful. Not much of a defense or a curse.” Araevin considered for a moment. “I will try to negate it.”
    Quastarte nodded. Araevin drew a breath, then spoke the words of a spell of negation, canceling out the charm he had sensed. To his surprise, the spell crumpled at once, flaring bright blue as it did so. He saw at once that it was a minor dimensional pocket of some sort, a temporary storing place not much larger than a big goblet. The spell ended, and from the imaginary space a small gemstone suddenly appeared, clattering to the ground. It was a deep green, so dark as to be almost black, and a glimmering white star flickered in its depths.
    “What in the world?” Araevin breathed.
    “A telkiira!” Quastarte said. “I have not seen one like this before.”
    Araevin leaned back, thinking. Telkiira were small gemstones that could hold the thoughts or memories of their makers, even potent arcane lore such as spells or the rites necessary to create enchanted items.
    “I wonder what this one holds?” he said.
    “Whatever it was, Philaerin considered it important enough to conceal from his attackers.” Quastarte frowned and picked it up in his hand, studying it carefully, and continued, “It doesn’t advertise its secret, it seems. Sometimes all one has to do is touch a telkiira in order to find out what it contains. But this one is guarded against casual contact.”
    “Would the demons return for that, do you think?”
    “I don’t know,” the loremaster said. “But we should make sure that it does not fall into their hands. Perhaps you should hold onto it, Araevin. If the demons do return, you will defend it better than I.”
    Araevin took the stone and gazed into its depths. It seemed an ordinary gemstone, if a somewhat valuable one.
    “Very well,” said Araevin. “Since our enemies have shown that they can enter our vaults and know something of where we keep our more powerful relics, it may make sense to keep it close at hand instead