“Among others, yes.”
“Excellent!” The Deneirrath priest stood up, and gestured toward an archway leading deeper into the great building. “If you please, then—this way.”
Araevin glanced at Ilsevele and offered a small smile. When it came down to it, he couldn’t resist a scholarly mystery, and there was not a better place in Faerûn to solve one than the libraries of Silverymoon. Together they followed Brother Calwern into the Vault of the Sages.
“High Lords and Ladies of the Council, the Lord Seiveril Miritar of Elion!”
Seiveril faltered on the threshold of the Dome of Stars, surprised to hear his own name announced. He glanced at the herald-captain, a young sun elf who stared straight ahead, giving no further sign that he recognized Seiveril’s presence.
Eighty years on the Royal Council and never once have I been announced, Seiveril wondered. Instead, he had always been a member of the body that guests were announced to.
He felt the eyes of the minor lords and functionaries in attendance fall on him, as he stood unmoving in the chamber door. Then Seiveril recovered, and he strode with growing confidence into the Dome of Stars.
The high council chamber of Evermeet, the Dome was part of the sprawling palace compound in Leuthilspar. A striking chamber with a dark, star-flecked marble floor and a great clear ceiling of magic theurglass, the Dome was illuminated by the warm yellow light of late afternoon, striking bright gleams from the glossy stone underfoot. It was a magnificent chamber, and in its center stood the glassteel council table, a delicate ornament of frosted-white glass magically hardened to the toughness of steel. It had always struck Seiveril as a good metaphor for the elf race—beautiful to look upon, yet stronger than the eye could believe.
Six of Evermeet’s councilors waited on Seiveril’s approach. Closest to him, at the left-hand foot of the horseshoe-shaped table, sat the old scribe Zaltarish, one of the queen’s most valued advisors. Beside Zaltarish sat the High Admiral Emardin Elsydar, master of Evermeet’s navy, and on the other side of the admiral—past Seiveril’s own former seat, apparently still vacant—was the High Marshal Keryth Blackhelm, leader of Evermeet’s army.
On the right-hand wing of the table sat two of Seiveril’s most determined opponents: Lady Selsharra Durothil, matron of the powerful sun elf Durothil clan, and Lady Ammisyll Veldann, another sun elf noble who governed the southern city of Nimlith. Both highborn sun elves stared daggers at him as he came near. To Veldann’s left sat Grand Mage Breithel Olithir, another sun elf. Seiveril had always thought well of Olithir, even if the fellow did not trust his own wisdom.
At the head of the table sat Queen Amlaruil herself, dressed in a resplendent gown of pearl-white that was set with countless gleaming diadems. Her raven-dark hair was bound by a simple silver fillet, and she held a thin scepter of shining mithral across her lap.
“You are welcome here, Seiveril Miritar,” Amlaruil said in a warm voice, and she smiled graciously. “So little time has passed since you left, and yet we have so much to speak of.”
Seiveril looked up into Amlaruil’s eyes, and felt his heart flutter at the sad wisdom and perfect beauty of her face. To look on Amlaruil as she sat in state was to catch a glimpse of Sehanine Moonbow’s throne in Arvandor, or so it was said. For his own part, Seiveril knew of no son or daughter of Evermeet who could stand before Amlaruil unmoved.
“I thank you, Queen Amlaruil,” he replied, and he bowed deeply.
When he straightened again, Amlaruil looked left and right to her advisors. “I asked Lord Seiveril here today, in the hope that we might hear from his own mouth the tale of his battles to defend Evereska and the High Forest from the daemonfey army. Few events in Faerûn within the last few years have portended so much for the People, and we would only be wise to inform ourselves as best we can about Lord Seiveril’s campaigns.” Amlaruil looked back to Seiveril, and said, “Will you speak, old friend?”
“Of course, Your Highness. Where should I begin?”
“Begin with your mustering at Elion,” Keryth Blackhelm said. “We were all here for your call to arms when you spoke of returning to Faerûn, and we remember the arguments that led to your oratory. Tell us what happened after you left this chamber.”
“Very well,” Seiveril agreed, and he began his tale.
He recounted the gathering of companies and volunteers in Elion, and the efforts to organize useful military units from the horde of individuals who had answered his call. He described their quick transit to Evereska by means of the ancient elfgates when it became clear that the city was in imminent peril, and the victory of the Battle of the Cwm, in which Seiveril’s Crusade had stopped the daemonfey horde from laying siege to Evereska. Then he went on to the pursuit of Sarya Dlardrageth’s army through the wild lands north of Evereska, to the climactic battle at the Lonely Moor.
“That was a terrible fight,” Seiveril said. He could see it before his eyes even then, remembering the onslaught of demons and the furious battle as the Crusade found itself surrounded on all sides by Sarya’s forces. “We fell on the ranks of orcs, ogres, and such, and decimated them. But Sarya and her demons teleported to our flank, and attacked fiercely, while her fey’ri took to the air and fell on our rearmost ranks. It seemed desperate indeed, but then Sarya’s demons all vanished at once—each one of them banished back to its native hell as the spells holding the demons in our world failed. That turned the tide. The fey’ri warriors abandoned their orcs and ogres and fled the field soon thereafter.”
“The demons vanished—that was Araevin Teshurr’s work at Myth Glaurach?” asked the grand mage.
“It was.”
“What has happened since?” Zaltarish the scribe asked.
“Well, we have searched all of the North, or so it seems, for any sign of where Sarya and her surviving fey’ri warriors might be hiding. The spellcasters among our army have cast divination after divination, hoping to uncover some sign that our scouts might have missed. We have also helped the wood elves to hunt down the last of the orc warbands and ogre gangs that accompanied the fey’ri in their assault against the High Forest.”
“You have won a great victory,” Selsharra Durothil said. Seiveril fixed his eyes on her, instantly suspicious. Lady Durothil had not spared many kind words for him over the past few months. Selsharra ignored his dark look and continued, “The daemonfey attack against Evereska and the High Forest has failed. Events have vindicated you, Lord Miritar. I do not think I was wrong to argue for caution when we debated this question a few short months ago, but I certainly cannot argue today that your impetuousness did not accomplish a great good.”
Seiveril carefully kept his face neutral, merely inclining his head in response to Durothil’s concession.
What is she up to? he wondered.
“So,” Keryth Blackhelm said, “When can we expect the return of your army?”
“When I am certain that the threat of the daemonfey has truly passed, and that no other enemies will try Evereska’s strength as soon as I leave. Some companies I could send home within a month or two, I think. Others I may ask to remain longer.”
“How will you judge when the daemonfey have been finally defeated?” the high admiral asked. “What if you simply cannot find them again?”
“I am prepared to wait.”
“A few months is one thing,” Ammisyll Veldann observed. “What if you find no sign of the daemonfey for a year? Two years? They are evidently well hidden, after all. Is Evermeet to be left shorn of its defenders for as long as you see fit to be stubborn?”
“The daemonfey are not the sole standard by which I shall judge my errand in Faerûn completed,” Seiveril replied. “The daemonfey were tempted to strike against Evereska because the People withdrew so much of their power from Faerûn. I mean to find a way to set that right before I say I am done.”
“That will be hard on your warriors, will it not?” Veldann asked. “They joined you to defend Evereska, and Evereska has been defended. They d
id not answer your call in order to garrison gloomy old ruins in the middle of the wilderness for years.”
“I require none to remain who are not willing,” Seiveril said.
Ammisyll Veldann threw up her hands, and leaned back in her seat. “Nothing has changed,” she muttered.
Selsharra Durothil looked around the Council table, and let her gaze linger on Amlaruil. “I would like to put forward a proposal,” she said.
If Queen Amlaruil anticipated more argument from the conservative sun elf, her face did not show it. She graciously nodded. “Of course, Lady Durothil.”
“While I do not necessarily agree that Lord Seiveril requires an army quite as large as he now has at his command,” Selsharra Durothil began, “I think we have all seen the wisdom of his arguments about maintaining a presence in Faerûn. In fact, it seems to me that this task may be important enough to justify a lasting amendment to Evermeet’s defenses. Instead of relying on the zeal and good intentions of those who happen to take interest in affairs in Faerûn, we should shoulder this responsibility ourselves, and formally recognize and support Lord Seiveril’s actions so far. Let us name him the East Marshal of the Realm, admit him again to the High Council, and designate his standing army in Faerûn as the East Guard.
“We can incorporate the East Guard into the armies of Evermeet, and thereby ensure that our brave soldiers need not abandon their oaths to the Crown in order to take service in Lord Miritar’s army. In fact, we can assess both Evermeet’s current defenses and the forces Miritar will need to continue his watch overseas, and divide our forces with more deliberation than before. Both the defenses of Evermeet herself and the strength of our East Guard should be improved with some careful planning.”
Seiveril stared at Selsharra Durothil, not bothering to hide his amazement. He noticed that most of her fellow councilors were staring, too.
She can’t have decided that I was right! he told himself.
Almost grudgingly, Keryth Blackhelm nodded in agreement. He looked to Queen Amlaruil. “There is a great deal of sense in that idea, my queen,” he murmured. “We could station the forces best suited for each job in the right place. Evermeet would be safer, and we would be better situated to intervene in Faerûn when the need arises.”
Grand Mage Olithir also nodded and said, “The same is true for our mages, spellblades, and bladesingers. And I for one would welcome Lord Seiveril’s voice at this table again.”
Ammisyll Veldann turned a furious look on Selsharra Durothil. “You are not seriously suggesting that we reward Miritar’s disobedience by returning him the seat that he surrendered in this council!” she snapped.
“I do not condone the manner in which Lord Miritar assembled his expedition and decided for himself what was right for all of us,” Selsharra answered, “but I cannot deny that his vision and foresight secured Evereska, and perhaps saved thousands of our kindred from destruction and slaughter.”
“The constituency of the High Council is the queen’s prerogative,” Zaltarish observed. “It is for her to decide such matters.”
“I must consider the suggestion for a time before I know my answer,” Amlaruil said. She looked at Seiveril. “And I suspect that Lord Miritar will wish to consider the question, too. You are asking him to take up a heavy burden, Lady Durothil.”
“A burden that he sought out, Your Highness,” Selsharra replied.
Amlaruil rapped her scepter on the glassteel table. “We will reconvene in a few days to deliberate the question at length. Until then, Lord Miritar, I would be delighted if you could tarry a few days here in Leuthilspar.”
Seiveril bowed again. “Of course, Your Highness,” he said.
CHAPTER THREE
10 Mirtul, the Year of Lightning Storms
For three days, Araevin explored the depths of Silverymoon’s Vault of the Sages. He passed long hours poring over ancient yellow parchments and carefully thumbing through heavy tomes of thick linen paper. He wandered from chamber to chamber, examining the orderly stacks kept by the priests of Denier, or he waited in reading rooms while the helpful clerics brought him books and scrolls they thought might interest him. It was not inexpensive, of course—to make use of the library cost him hundreds of pieces of gold—but Araevin did not begrudge the cost. The clerics of Denier used the fees to acquire and copy rare texts from other libraries all across Faerûn.
Ilsevele helped him in his search, screening works of potential interest to determine whether or not Araevin needed to see a particular reference. She saved him countless hours of reading through dead ends, or wasting time on old works that simply had no bearing on the subject matter he was after. The two sun elves arrived at the library an hour after dawn every morning, and remained until after dark each night before heading back to the Golden Oak and joining Maresa and Filsaelene for the evening meal, wine, and dancing.
They had little luck at first, spending the first day looking at old records and accounts of Arcorar that had nothing to do with magic or mythals. On the next day they successfully narrowed their search by reviewing a list of potentially relevant tomes assembled by the Deneirraths; less than sixty books or documents in the Vault possessed the right combination of antiquity and subject matter to warrant close inspection. A dozen titles into the list, on the morning of the third day of their search, they stumbled across what they were looking for.
“Araevin, I think I’ve found something,” said Ilsevele. She straightened up from the desk where she sat, reading through a set of ancient scrolls. “This scroll describes a judgment by the Coronal of Arcorar against House Dlardrageth, and records how the House was expunged from the realm.”
Araevin looked up from the window bench where he was sitting, consulting his journals, and asked, “Who is the author?”
“A court mage named Sanathar.”
“I know that name,” he said. He set down his journal and joined Ilsevele at her table. He found the passage she indicated, and murmured aloud as he read: “Yes, I see it … the high mage Ithraides gathered a company of wizards, and they used their spells to destroy or drive off the Dlardrageths, finally walling off the Dlardrageth tower in Cormanthor—that was the old name for Myth Drannor, of course …” He skimmed the old manuscript, careful not to handle the ancient parchment more than was absolutely necessary. “Look, here. More passages were added later. The spell-prison raised around House Dlardrageth was finally removed almost five hundred years after the coronal’s mages moved against the Dlardrageths.”
“I saw that. They found that they had missed several of the daemonfey.”
“Sarya and her sons, and a few others. Yes, that makes sense. We know that the daemonfey escaped from Arcorar and insinuated themselves into several powerful Houses in Siluvanede, creating the fey’ri.” Araevin read farther, and his eyes widened. “Interesting,” he breathed. “This may be what I was looking for. Near the end of this account Sanathar tells us that the Nightstar was interred in a secure vault—that we know, of course, since I eventually found it there—but he also says that Ithraides departed for Arvandor soon after the creation of the vault. The star elf Morthil took many of Ithraides’s tomes and treasures into his keeping.”
“Star elf? An unusual turn of phrase. Do you think he meant sun or moon elf?”
“No, it’s quite clear. Look, other sun elves and moon elves are named here, and here. I think the text implies a separate race or nationality.”
“I’ve never heard of star elves before,” Ilsevele said. “A kindred of the People who died out long ago? Or maybe he is referring to elves who came to this world from another world? Some of Evermeet’s folk are descended from elves who sailed the Sea of Night in flying ships.”
Araevin studied the ancient yellow parchment for a long moment, eyes narrowed in thought.
“Just because we haven’t heard the term ‘star elf’ before doesn’t mean that no one else has,” he finally replied. “My friend Quastarte has spent years studying the realms and races of elvenkin
d in this world. He knows far more about the topic than I do. Perhaps he could tell us more about who these people were, or where and when they lived. For that matter, there might be information close at hand here in the Vault.”
He began reading the passage more carefully, studying the exact nuances of the text.
Ilsevele set aside the pages of the manuscript that Araevin was interested in, and continued to read ahead while he pored over the older pages. The two of them read together in silence for a short time, until Ilsevele stiffened and drew back from the old parchment in front of her.
“There is something else, Araevin.”
Araevin glanced up from the scroll. “What?”
“There’s a passage by Ithraides. He’s writing about the Nightstar here.” Her brow furrowed. “Ithraides records that the selukiira killed two mages of Arcorar. The selukiira was protected by fearsome wards, spells designed to make sure that only daemonfey wizards would be able to use the stone. In fact, Ithraides writes here that he did not dare touch it himself.” Ilsevele glanced down at Araevin’s chest, even though the lorestone was hidden beneath his shirt. “If the Nightstar is that dangerous, why didn’t it destroy you, as well? Did the deadly spells fail with time?”
“No, they’re still there.” Araevin looked down at the tabletop before him. “The Nightstar spared me because it recognized me.”
“Recognized you? What do you mean by that?”
He could not bear to look up to her face. “I mean that it found Dlardrageth blood in me. The Nightstar is not permitted to destroy a Dlardrageth—at least, not one who knows enough about magic to make use of its powers. I am related to Saelethil Dlardrageth, at least distantly.”
Farthest Reach Page 5
