Behind him, Nesterin cried out, “Corellon, it burns!”
“Corellon himself placed that mark on my brow, elf,” Malkizid hissed. “You quail so after only an instant of the torment I have endured for twenty thousand years?”
Araevin ground his teeth and fought down the pain. He tried to grope his way toward a spell, any spell, but it was impossible. The grip of Malkizid’s terrible will was simply too strong. He looked up at the third shard of the Gatekeeper’s Crystal, spinning slowly within its cocoon of shrieking wind.
So close! he thought. So close!
The archdevil stalked closer, shifting his grip on his ebon blade. Behind Araevin, Donnor let out a grunt of agony-but then the human stumbled through the verses of a holy prayer and invoked a ring of golden light. The light washed over Araevin harmlessly, but seared Malkizid’s marble flesh and left a great smoking scar across the archdevil’s torso.
Malkizid roared in anger and staggered back several steps. He wheeled around, fixing his attention on the Tethyrian.
“Insolent dog!” he snarled-and the terrible burning brand that filled Araevin’s eyes vanished.
Gasping for breath, Araevin slumped to his knees. He could feel blood streaming from his wounded face, but the awful power that had held him motionless was gone. Fight it off! he railed at himself. I must do something before he destroys us all.
“The ondreier ysele,” he murmured. The Word of Potency… a comparatively simple high magic spell that added strength to lesser spells. From his knees, Araevin focused his mind and will and fanned the embers of power burning in his soul. Shining like a silver beacon, he shouted out the Word of Potency. The spire top rocked with its raw might.
“No!” Malkizid whirled back on him, raising his taloned hand to counter what followed.
But Araevin had judged his moment right, catching the archdevil at the exact moment his attention had been fixed on Donnor. Before Malkizid could raise a defense against the Word of Potency, Araevin struck again with a spell of integument. The Branded King vanished in an instant, hurled headlong into a dimensional prison that glittered once in the air where he had stood before fading out of view.
Nesterin stared in amazement. “You defeated him, Araevin!”
“No,” Araevin gasped. “The dimensional maze will restrain him for only a few moments. We must be gone from this place before he returns.”
He looked up at the shard, still waiting overhead, and tried to find the strength for a spell to deal with the remaining fragments of Malkizid’s elemental shield. Think, Araevin! Think! he exhorted himself. There had to be a way.
Maresa looked over to Araevin. “Can you get it?” she asked. Red blood ran down her snow-white features from angry cuts across her face, but she was still on her feet.
“I don’t have a spell to overcome the last shield.”
The genasi glanced up at the shard, and frowned. “Only the wind remains?”
“Yes, I unbound the rest of the spell.” Araevin staggered to his feet, still furiously searching for some way to deal with the elemental shield. If he couldn’t come up with anything, they would have to retreat and try again later… but Malkizid would be waiting for them next time.
Maresa spread her arms wide, and lifted herself into the air. Without a moment’s hesitation, the genasi levitated herself toward the sphere of shrieking, howling wind. Araevin stared in horror.
“Maresa, no!” he cried. “It will tear you to pieces!”
She ignored him and flew straight into the spinning gray globe. Araevin cringed, expecting to see her flung out of the elemental shield-but instead the winds seemed to simply part around her. Her long white air streamed softly behind her head as it always did, seemingly unaffected by the hurricane raging around her. She reached out and seized the last shard of the crystal, and just as swiftly dropped back down through the sphere of wind. She alighted next to Araevin, and extended the shard to him.
“Can we go now?” Maresa asked.
“How did you-?”
“I’m a genasi, you idiot, a daughter of the elemental air.” Maresa looked over to the place where Malkizid had vanished. The dimensional prison was becoming visible again, brightening as it returned to reality. The archdevil would return in mere heartbeats. “If you have a way to get us all out of here, this would be a good time.”
Araevin set his astonishment aside for later. “Quickly, join hands!” he told the others.
Nesterin and Donnor helped Jorin, who had been mauled by the errant spellchain, to Araevin’s side. Taking Maresa’s hand and Donnor’s hand in his own, Araevin chanted the words of a planewalking spell. Even though he was numb and cold with fatigue, he reached into the deepest wellsprings of his strength and found the willpower to finish the spell.
The last thing he saw of the spire top was Malkizid emerging from the dimensional prison, his face contorted in pure fury. Then the Branded King’s fortress vanished into silver, silent mist.
The last rays of sunset painted the walls of Sarya’s throne chamber a brilliant red-gold. Two days had passed since the defeat in the Vale of Lost Voices, and the weather had turned clear and warm again.
She stood facing the window, looking out over the tree-shaded ruins of the ancient city. She had first walked the streets of this place more than five millennia ago, when Arcorar, the Great Forest, was the name of the realm. She could still make out the faint suggestions of that old city, even though it had evolved over many centuries into Myth Drannor before meeting its end.
“The fey’ri are here, Mother,” Xhalph said quietly.
She nodded and turned away from the view. Mardeiym Reithel and Vesryn Aelorothi had survived the battle in the vale, so she still had her general and her spymaster. But the bladesinger Jasrya Aelorothi was dead, killed by some human archer’s lucky shot. Hundreds more of her fey’ri had died fighting against the guardians of the vale. Her legion had been reduced to no more than five hundred strong.
She studied her subjects for a moment. Mardeiym and Vesryn returned her gaze without expression, while Alysir Ursequarra’s eyes burned with a fierce anger barely kept in check. The half-dozen remaining House lords did not meet her eyes.
“What news, Vesryn?” Sarya asked the vulture-featured sorcerer. “Have our guests arrived yet?”
“The armies of Evermeet and Sembia have encircled the city, my queen,” Vesryn Aelorothi reported. “They are preparing fortifications to besiege us.”
“I am not concerned,” Sarya replied. She paced back to the window, leaving her back to her subjects. “The mythal protects us. I can destroy any paleblood or human who sets foot in Myth Drannor. Miritar and his human allies can bark and bay in the forest outside our walls for a hundred years.”
“Then what was the purpose of fighting in the vale of Lost Voices?” Alysir Ursequarra demanded from behind her. “What advantage did you seek by abandoning the defenses of this city in order to meet our enemies so far beyond our walls? And how could you fail to anticipate that the guardian spirits of the vale would side with Seiveril Miritar?”
Sarya ceased her pacing and eyed the fey’ri over her shoulder. “I have always thought it foolish to teach my subjects to guard their thoughts in my presence,” she said in a cold voice. “However, it is equally unwise to tolerate insolence. I rule here, Lady Alysir, and you exceed my tolerance.”
Alysir Ursequarra threw back her head in defiance and set her hand on the hilt of her sword. “I only speak what all here think, Sarya Dlardrageth. If you believe that you can extinguish our doubts by destroying me, then you should do so. Otherwise, I demand answers.”
“In that case, I choose to destroy you,” Sarya said.
She whirled on the fey’ri and hissed the words to a dreadful necromancy. The fey’ri drew her sword and leaped for Sarya, conjuring a spell of her own to fling at her queen-but Sarya’s spell proved the quicker. In mid-leap a fierce midnight flame erupted from Alysir’s mouth, her eyes, even her finely scaled flesh. Her spell drowned i
n the horrible crackling darkness that consumed her, feeding on her body as if she were made of tinder.
The rebellious fey’ri crashed to the stone floor at Sarya’s feet, screaming black fire. She found the sheer willpower and determination to claw herself two paces closer, while the awful black flames devoured her alive. Sarya smiled coldly and took a step back, remaining just out of Alysir’s reach. The ebon flames were quite dangerous, after all, and could easily spread. In a few moments there was nothing left of Alysir Ursequarra but a charred skeleton encased in blackened mail.
Sarya extinguished the flames with a single curt gesture and returned her attention to the fey’ri lords that remained. “Does anyone else wish to question my authority?” she asked. None of the others spoke up. They simply waited in silence.
“As it so happens, I had several compelling reasons to try Miritar’s strength in the vale,” she continued. “First, the open terrain favored us greatly. We worked great destruction with the advantage of the skies in the early hours of the battle. Second, I did not care to allow myself to fall under siege here. Permitting Miritar to reach Myth Drannor struck me as something that might be seen as weakness in the lands surrounding Cormanthor, even if I felt confident that he could not storm the city in the face of my control over the mythal.
“As for the vale guardians, they have been quiescent for months. So long as we did not despoil the tombs-and you may recall that I gave exacting orders that no tombs were to be broken-they should have had no reason to trouble us. It seems clear now that Seiveril Miritar had some way to rouse the guardians against us, but we did not suspect that he could do any such thing.” Sarya stretched her wings out with a sharp snapping motion, and folded them tightly to her back. “I remind you that this is war. We must be audacious, inventive, and resourceful. We set out half a year ago to avenge the wrongs of five thousand years and shake the foundations of the world. Did you think it would be easy?”
“We are with you, my queen,” Mardeiym Reithel replied. He struck his fist to his breastplate and bowed his head. The remaining fey’ri lords followed the general’s example, murmuring promises of loyalty and lowering their heads before her.
Sarya did not doubt that some at least harbored doubts much like Alysir Ursequarra’s, but for the moment she chose to accept their words of fealty. If some of them had to be bent to her will through the fear of her wrath, so be it. She did not govern by their consent and she did not care to weaken her power over them by acceding to ultimatums.
“Mardeiym, I want you to mount a vigilant guard over the city,” she said. “I have arranged the mythal to severely chastise any of our enemies who set foot in Myth Drannor, but I do not rule out the possibility that clever infiltrators may find a way to worm through the mythal’s defenses. As for the rest of you, remember what you have seen today. I trust I will not have to repeat that lesson. Now leave me.”
The lords and ladies of the fey’ri bowed again to her, and departed. Sarya refrained from pacing anxiously until they left. The audience chamber she had chosen for herself in Castle Cormanthor was too small. She could not stand confinement of any sort.
Her fey’ri were decimated, her enemies were allied against her, the drow had abandoned her cause, her city was beleaguered… but she was not yet beaten. Myth Drannor was an unassailable fortress beneath her mythal weaving.
“I will teach the palebloods the cost of defiance,” she muttered angrily. “They will rue the day they set themselves against me!”
“Ah, now that is the proper spirit.” Malkizid’s golden voice preceded the archdevil as a font of flickering black fire sprang up in one corner of the chamber. The dancing flame took on a roughly manlike shape, roiling and shifting, and it condensed all at once into the familiar form of the Branded King. “Truly, the Dlardrageths are made of stern stuff.”
Sarya turned on the handsome archdevil, cold hate smoldering in her green eyes. “My determination owes nothing to you, Malkizid! You abandoned the field at the height of the battle. We might have won the day if you had not fled!”
Malkizid offered a slight shrug. “I discovered that I had matters to attend to in my own domain, Sarya.” He set one hand on the arm of Sarya’s throne, and smiled to himself as if amused by her anger. “Have you perchance recovered the shard of the Gatekeeper’s Crystal from Nar Kerymhoarth yet?”
Sarya frowned. Malkizid had made no mention of the shard in months. What had brought it to his mind now? “I sent a small company of fey’ri to search for it, but they fell afoul of the serpent folk lairing in the undamaged levels.”
“Send another company immediately,” the archdevil said. “Make sure that they do not fail, Sarya. That shard has become important again.”
“Why is that?”
Malkizid narrowed his eyes, perhaps measuring her distinct lack of deference. Sarya hoped that he understood how precarious his hold over her was. But the Branded King set it aside without comment, at least for the moment. “The mage Araevin Teshurr seeks to reassemble the Gatekeeper’s Crystal. That is a weapon we do not wish to see in Seiveril Miritar’s hands.”
“He could destroy this city’s mythal,” Sarya said with a scowl. That was far and away her best deterrent against attack in Myth Drannor. If the mythal fell, the palebloods and their humans could storm the city. The monstrous denizens of the ruins would exact a price, of course, but she did not have sufficient fey’ri warriors or enslaved demons and devils to feel confident of repelling such an attack. “Has he found any shards yet?”
“One at least, possibly two,” Malkizid answered. “I think it wise to make certain that he does not recover the remaining shards.”
“I will put it in Teryani Ealoeth’s hands. She has been most anxious to make amends for her failure to turn the Sembians against Evermeet’s army.” Sarya tapped her chin. “Yes, she should do. I will dispatch her tonight.”
“Tell me the moment she finds the shard in Nar Kerymhoarth,” Malkizid said. He offered her a mocking half-bow and slid back down into the shadows again.
Sarya stood still, looking at the place where Malkizid had made his exit. The Gatekeeper’s Crystal was a powerful weapon indeed. Perhaps, if Teryani found the shard for her, she would no longer need Malkizid. Frowning in thought, she strode to the chamber door.
“Erraichal!” she called. “Have your Talons bring Teryani Ealoeth here at once.”
The captain of her guard bowed once. “As you command, my queen,” he said.
Araevin and his companions rode into the Crusade’s new encampment on the outskirts of Myth Drannor late in the afternoon. It was a warm, clear summer day, with a cloudless sky overhead, which had made the hard ride a little easier. It had taken them almost three days to catch up to the army of Evermeet, riding from the sacred forests of Semberholme more than a hundred miles to the south. It was the closest to Myth Drannor that Araevin could manage with his planewalking spell.
He asked the way to Seiveril’s headquarters and was directed to the ruins of an old elven manor, hidden in a deeply forested hollow. Scores of elf knights and archers stood guard over the place, vigilantly scanning the skies and the shadows of the woods. Alongside the elves stood no small number of Dalesfolk-Deepingdalesfolk and a handful of Riders from Mistledale, if Araevin judged the heraldry right. He also saw a few Sembian banners standing next to the Crusade’s own pennants, and shook his head.
I should have known that Ilsevele would succeed at anything she set her mind to, he reflected.
The guards standing watch over Seiveril’s quarters recognized Araevin at once. “Mage Teshurr, you have returned!” one of the Knights of the Golden Star exclaimed. The fellow hurried up to take the horse’s bit, while other elves did the same for Jorin, Nesterin, Donnor, and Maresa. “I think Lord Miritar will be glad to see you.”
Araevin recognized the knight, a passing acquaintance from his days in the Queen’s Guard long ago. “I thank you, Vessen,” he answered. He swung himself down from his horse, while his friends follo
wed suit. None were too proud to knead fists in their backs or wince as they walked off the effects of the long ride. Donnor and Jorin were the best horsemen of them all, but even the Tethyrian and the Aglarondan were saddle-sore. “Can you take me to Lord Miritar?”
“Of course,” the sun elf replied. “This way.”
Araevin and his friends followed Vessen into the old manor. The roof had long ago collapsed, leaving the place open to the sky, but the elves had fashioned a simple canopy of light canvas to serve as a shelter against rain and cleaned the dirt and debris of centuries from the place. The warrior led them to a room that had once been a spacious banquet hall. Seiveril waited there, along with Ilsevele, Starbrow, and Theremen Ulath of Deepingdale.
The silver-haired elflord strode up and gripped Araevin’s arm with a fierce smile. “Well met, Araevin! You are exactly the person I was hoping to see.”
“I did not expect to find you on the doorstep of Myth Drannor. Nor did I expect to find the Sembians fighting at your side.” He turned to Ilsevele. “It seems that Ilsevele’s mission must have met with some success.”
Ilsevele dropped her gaze when he looked at her. “Lord Selkirk of the Sembia had the sense to see that the daemonfey were enemies to all of us. I had little to do with that.”
Araevin released Seiveril’s hand and moved to embrace his betrothed. She returned the gesture without looking into his face, and gave him a light kiss on his cheek before disentangling herself from his arms. The mage stopped in surprise and frowned. Had they quarreled that badly when they parted in Deepingdale? She did not seem angry, though. She seemed… resigned.
A cold ache knotted the center of his chest. “Ilsevele, what is wrong?” he asked softly.
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