“Portals?” said Keryth Blackhelm. The stern-faced marshal frowned. “Why, the daemonfey might be anywhere by now!”
“The portals are being searched even as we speak. Rest assured I will not give up until we have destroyed the daemonfey root and branch,” said Seiveril.
“The daemonfey have been defeated, have they not?” Ammisyll Veldann asked. “How much longer will you persist in this interminable folly, Miritar? While you chase after ghosts and garrison gloomy old ruins, Evermeet itself remains vulnerable to attack!”
“Clearly, Evermeet was vulnerable to attack before I called for my Crusade,” Seiveril replied. “My efforts in Faerûn are your best defense, Lady Veldann.”
Veldann scowled and began to frame a response, but Amlaruil interceded.
“The Dlardrageths are the enemies of all the elf race,” she said. “I will pray to the Seldarine for your success.” The queen did not glance at Ammisyll Veldann, but the highborn sun elf frowned and subsided, leaning back in her seat. Instead, Amlaruil studied Seiveril. “Have you given more thought to Lady Durothil’s proposal, Lord Miritar?”
Seiveril glanced up at the pale sky overhead. An empty chair stood at the foot of the left-hand side of the table, opposite the seat occupied by the high admiral.
It would be easy to take my place there, he thought. I would certainly wield power at least equal to the power I held as Lord of Elion—perhaps even more, since I would hold a high office indeed, with no one within three thousand miles to countermand my commands. I could do a great deal of good, if I chose to take that seat.
But how long would that good last? he wondered. Evermeet might set a shining example for the young human lands of Faerûn to follow, but ultimately Evermeet is a refuge, a retreat. All the troubles that were foremost in his mind—the daemonfey, the phaerimm, the assaults on Evermeet, even the fall of the realms of Eaerlann and Cormanthor hundreds of years ago—seemed inextricably linked with the pattern of Retreat and flight that had been established for a dozen elf generations.
The empty seat at the table was inviting. It was familiar, comfortable. And it might undo everything he had accomplished so far.
“Lady Durothil’s suggestion has great merit,” he finally said. “I wholeheartedly endorse the notion of appointing a minister or a marshal to sit on this council and speak for those of the People who remain in Faerûn. But I respectfully decline to hold any such office, or to answer to anyone who does.”
“I don’t understand,” Keryth Blackhelm growled. “You tell us to raise up a councilor for the east, and you say you will pay no heed to him? What is the point?”
“If I accepted the seat you offer, I would be honor-bound to answer to Evermeet’s authority and conform my actions to the will of the throne and the council. I do not have confidence in this body’s ability to take the actions I deem necessary in Faerûn. Therefore I must decline to be so bound.”
“Isn’t it arrogant of you to decide that you, in the solitude of your own heart, are better suited to make such decisions than anyone else?” High Admiral Elsydar asked.
“Perhaps, but I have work that is not yet done in Faerûn,” Seiveril said. “I will remain until I know that I have done all that I can, and I will not let Evermeet’s isolationists to tell me otherwise.”
“Wander around in Faerûn’s dying forests as long as you like, Miritar,” Ammisyll Veldann hissed, “but send home the sons and daughters of Evermeet you have inveigled with your promises of glory!”
“Each elf who followed me into Faerûn is free to return to Evermeet whenever he or she chooses,” Seiveril said, standing as straight as a fine blade. “I compelled no one to follow me to Faerûn, and I will not allow you to compel anyone to return, Veldann. If I have to, I will found a realm of my own to prevent it.”
The council fell silent for a moment, astonished. Even Amlaruil’s eyes widened.
The queen said, “Seiveril, think of the People who follow you. You are not the only one who must accept the consequences of your crusade.”
“By what authority?” snapped Selsharra Durothil. “By what authority do you name yourself a king, Seiveril Miritar? Where is your realm?”
“By what authority?” Seiveril repeated. “By the authority of each elf who chooses to follow me, Lady Durothil. I claim no crown. All who remain with me shall have a voice in choosing who we name as our lord and how we do so.”
He looked at each of the councilors and went on, “As far as our realm … how many of our lands lie empty now? Who would argue with me if I raised a city in the High Moor, where Miyeritar once was? Or the wild lands west of Tun, where the towers of Shantel Othreier stood? The Border Forest, where once the sylvan realm of Rystallwood lay? Or the Elven Court, or Cormanthor itself?” He paused, and said again, “Why not Cormanthor itself?”
Seiveril looked up at the sky overhead, where the first stars were beginning to glimmer in the darkening sky.
Corellon, guide me, he prayed silently. Hold me to the course you have set for me.
Then he turned his back on the council, and strode from the Dome of Stars, leaving Evermeet behind him.
The portal near the Burial Glen failed to work, as Araevin knew it would. The spells that had powered the device for centuries were designed to allow intermittent functioning only—once used, the portal could not work again for hours. He knew a spell or two that might suspend that particular property and allow the instantaneous use of the gate, but with all his spells drained, he did not have a chance of opening it.
“I am sorry,” he told his companions. “We can’t escape through this portal. It will be hours before it opens again.”
“Damn! Why build a magical door that’s nothing more than a dead stone most of the time?” Maresa snarled.
“Among other things, it makes a portal much harder to sneak an army through,” Araevin answered. “We’ll have to wait for it to activate again.”
“We certainly can’t wait here,” Starbrow growled. The moon elf looked around the clearing, his hand on Keryvian’s hilt. “Let’s keep moving. There’s a lot of forest to hide in, and maybe we can circle back in a few hours to try it again.”
“Agreed. The farther we are from this place, the better,” Araevin said. If she were in Myth Drannor, Sarya would certainly have sensed his attempt to manipulate her mythal defenses and the pounce of her spell trap. He couldn’t believe that she would not order her fey’ri to hunt him down, especially if she knew that her trap had drained away all his spells. “Starbrow, you know this place. Take the lead.”
The moon elf nodded curtly and set off at once, leading the small party away from the portal clearing along a small footpath. Ilsevele followed behind him, her bow in her hand, and Araevin trotted behind her, his disruption wand clenched in one fist. He was fairly sure that the wand would still work for him—wands didn’t draw on any spells held in the mind, they simply contained spells of their own that any competent mage could make use of. It was a good weapon, and he had two more wands at his belt with equally destructive spells. But he normally held dozens of spells in his mind, many of which were significantly more powerful than any he could build into a wand. Without the power and versatility of his normal repertoire, he was in no position to invite a battle against Sarya’s fey’ri or any of their infernal allies.
How did she do it? Araevin wondered. If she knew a spell to secure the mythal-weave from another mage’s examination or touch, why didn’t she guard the mythal at Myth Glaurach in the same manner? He could only think of three possible answers: Sarya Dlardrageth was simply careless at Myth Glaurach, which seemed scarcely credible; there was something different about Myth Drannor’s mythal; or Sarya Dlardrageth had learned something new about mythalcraft in the relatively short time since he had bested her at Myth Glaurach.
But she doesn’t have the Nightstar. Where could she have learned the necessary spells? Is there another selukiira she might have access to? Or … did Sarya find a tutor? Araevin’s frown deepened, a
nd he rubbed at the gemstone in his chest.
“This way,” Starbrow said. He turned from the path, striking off into the forests. He slid down a leaf-covered slope, muddy and wet with the spring, and splashed across a small stream at the bottom of the dell. But before they scrambled up the far side of the stream bank, Araevin sensed a terrible, icy cold in the air, and a crawling wrongness that turned his stomach.
He looked back up the short hillside they’d just descended. A pair of nightmarish monsters bounded down after them. They were a pale bluish-white in color, the hue of dead flesh, and they were big—each easily the size of an ogre, with insectile features, clacking mandibles, and long, lashing tails studded with terrible barbs. They carried great spears of black iron frosted with supernatural cold.
“Behind us!” he cried. “Ice devils!”
The devils hissed and clicked at each other, slowing and spreading apart as they realized their quarry had been brought to bay. Araevin and his companions turned to face them.
“We have to kill them,” Starbrow said. “Don’t let them teleport away, or they’ll be back with more of their kind in a matter of moments.”
“Right,” said Ilsevele.
Her hands blurred and her bow sang its deadly song, thrumming deeply. A silver arrow struck the first devil just above its cold, faceted eye, splintering against its chitinous hide, and a second arrow stuck in the tender joint between its armored torso and its bony arm.
The two fiends halted, gathering their infernal power. Araevin started to shout a warning, but even as he drew breath the monsters let loose with a terrible, scathing blast of unearthly cold. The stream iced over at once, and tree and fern alike turned white and died under the deadly frost.
Araevin ducked down under his cloak, hoping its enchantments would help protect him. Cold so fierce that it felt like a white-hot poker seared his hands, his feet, and soaked through his cloak, wrenching away his breath and burning in his nose and mouth. He heard Ilsevele cry out in pain. Then the cold eased, and he threw off his cloak, shaking off a mantle of deadly white hoarfrost as he stood again.
The whole hillside was white and frozen from the ice devils’ wintry blasts. The monsters stalked forward, iron spears smoking with cold. Before him, at the bottom of the dell, Filsaelene stood frozen. She had been in midstream when the devils attacked, and the ice on the creek held her immobilized at the knee.
“I’m stuck!” she cried.
Araevin leveled his disruption wand at the nearest of the two devils and barked out the command word. A bolt of azure energy, shimmering and crackling, lanced out from the wand to knock the devil off its feet. The second devil approached Filsaelene, who stooped down to smash the edge of her shield against the ice covering the creek, trying to free her feet from the ice. But then Maresa suddenly slipped out from behind a tree, leveled her crossbow, and shot the ice devil in the side of its thick neck. Blue-black gore spattered the frost-covered ground, and the monster whirled on her, moving with impossible speed for something so large and powerful. Maresa yelped and gave ground, ducking back into a young stand of alders and trying to keep as many of the slender white trees as possible between her and the devil.
“Is there a good way to kill these things?” Maresa called.
“Holy weapons!” Filsaelene replied. “You need a holy weapon to really hurt them!”
“Anything else?” the genasi demanded.
The ice devil stalked closer and rammed the point of its black spear through the trees, missing Maresa by a hand’s breadth.
Araevin blasted that devil with his wand, staggering it for a moment, then he risked a quick glance back at Ilsevele. He found her fumbling to pick up her bow again with frozen hands. Starbrow knelt by her, trying to help.
“I can’t shoot!” she said.
The first devil regained its feet and charged at Filsaelene, who finally managed to pull her feet free of the ice. She parried the first strike of its spear with her shield, twisted out of the way of the second, but then the monster’s barbed tail came sweeping in fast and low, lashing her across her knees. Her feet flew out from under her, and Filsaelene fell on her back in the icy stream, her sword clattering out of her grasp. The monster straddled her, one clawed foot on either side of her torso, and raised its great black spear in both hands.
Then Starbrow came dashing down the slope, Keryvian alight in his hands. The sword gleamed in one perfect arc that took off the ice devil’s leg at the knee. The creature let out a high-pitched, whistling shriek, and toppled into the creek, even as it slashed and gouged at Starbrow. The big moon elf followed the monster to the ground, blocking its claws and mandibles with lightning-swift parries. Then he set one foot on its chest and rammed Keryvian’s point through the monster’s mandibles, pinning its head to the streambed. Keryvian’s pure white fire flashed from the ice devil’s eyes. The thing shuddered once and lay still.
The second ice devil whirled at the cry of the first, and abandoned Maresa to rush toward the others. But when Starbrow killed its companion, the ice devil halted, its eyes glittering with cold malice. It abruptly vanished, teleporting away.
“Damn,” Starbrow said. “It’s gone for help!”
“Quickly, then. We must be away from here before it returns!” Araevin replied. He turned and helped Ilsevele to her feet, shivering at the icy touch of her flesh. “Can you walk?” he asked her.
She winced with pain, but nodded. “Yes. Let’s go.”
They scrambled up the other side of the dell, and ran at their best speed through the woods beyond, following Starbrow as he dashed ahead. He led them for several hundred yards, through tall groves of magnificent trees that resembled nothing so much as the pillars of a great cathedral above a floor of green ferns, into tangled thickets and past old ruined walls and roads, before they reached a small shrine or chapel half-hidden by the hillside it was built against.
“In here,” Starbrow said. “I think we’ll be safe.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Ilsevele asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to stay out in the woods, where we can try to keep ahead of the pursuit? If they track us to this place, we’ll be cornered.”
“The fey’ri have wings,” Starbrow answered. “If they find us in the open, we won’t be able to outrun them. Hiding is probably our best option. And if I remember right …” The moon elf warrior moved into the ruined shrine, and studied the floor carefully.
“Whatever you’re doing, do it quickly! The fey’ri are coming,” Maresa hissed. She flattened herself beside the door, watching the path along which they’d just come. “There are at least a dozen of them back there.”
Starbrow swept aside a small bare patch, then knelt to flip up a flagstone and open a hidden catch. Behind the altar, a hidden door slid open.
“Into the passage,” he said, and stood aside to motion Araevin, Ilsevele, and Filsaelene through. Maresa followed, hurrying across the chapel, and Starbrow stepped in and slid the door closed.
The chamber beyond was absolutely lightless, but then Filsaelene spoke the words of a minor prayer and summoned up a magical light. Araevin looked around and saw that they were in a natural cave hidden within the hillside. A small pool of clear, still water lay in the center of the cave, and soft moss that glowed faintly blue-green covered the floor. “What is this place?” he asked.
“A secret refuge, hidden beneath the shrine of Sehanine Moonbow. There are a few such places scattered around Myth Drannor and its outskirts,” Starbrow said. “Once they were also guarded by spells designed to keep them concealed, even against magic, but I don’t know if those work any longer. The moss has healing properties, if you are hurt.”
He set Keryvian down on the ground, and lowered himself to the moss, stretching out as if on a bed.
“How did you ever find this place?” Ilsevele asked. She sank down onto the mossy floor nearby.
Starbrow shrugged and looked over to Araevin. “How long before we can use that portal to return to Myth Glaurac
h?”
“Several hours, I think,” Araevin replied. “Of course, Sarya may be guarding it now. For that matter, we’ll have to figure out a way to reach it without fighting our way through her entire legion.”
“Can you prepare any spells that would help us reach the portal unseen?” Filsaelene asked.
“Not until I rest. Then, I could ready the invisibility spell again,” Araevin said. He frowned, and added, “That is, assuming that I can commit spells to my mind at all. I think that Sarya’s trap only depleted my mind of the spells I knew at the moment, but if she somehow drew out my ability to cast spells at all….”
“Aillesel Seldarie,” Ilsevele breathed. “Araevin, I didn’t realize how the mythal had affected you.”
“Well, we will cross that bridge when we come to it, as my human friends say.” Araevin looked over to Starbrow. “If we were thinking of hiding here for several hours to allow the portal to recharge, we might as well remain here long enough for me to prepare spells, if I can. It will make things much easier if we have trouble getting back to the portal glade.”
They settled down to rest from their exertions, lying quietly in the moss-filled cave. Filsaelene used her spells to heal the worst of their injuries, though her healing spells could do nothing for Araevin’s magic. Stilling his thoughts to silence, Araevin stretched out and let himself drift into Reverie, trying very hard not to dwell on what would happen if he found he could not wield magic. While he composed himself to rest, he listened to his companions conversing in low voices.
“When did you explore this place, Starbrow?” Ilsevele asked the moon elf.
“A long time ago.”
“It can’t be that long ago. You’re not more than a hundred and fifty or so, are you?”
“That’s about right,” Starbrow said.
“That is certainly long by my standards,” Maresa observed. “Because you elves live so damned long, you have no idea of the value of time.”
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