"I am looking for a set of enchanted gemstones," he said. "There are three of them. I have the first, and it permits me to sense the second."
"Enchanted? What do they do?"
"They hold spells," Araevin answered. "Like a wizard's spellbook. I'm interested in the spells that I think might be stored in the second and third stones."
"Fair enough," said Maresa. "I suppose there's no point in asking for a cut of the magic gems, but I'll require an even share of any other treasure we find."
"Agreed," said Araevin, then he fell silent, considering what else he should add.
Ilsevele spoke for him.
"There is something else, Maresa," she said. "We have reason to believe that there may be others who want these gems-sorcerers with demon servants. They will kill for them without hesitation. Be on your guard."
"There are always complications," the genasi said brightly. She patted the rapier at her hip. "Let them come."
"So we start near Soubar," Grayth said. "That's a tenday's ride, possibly more if the rains come early this spring. I guess we'll have time to get to know each other."
"I intend to cut seven days from that," Araevin said. "I know of an old portal that will shorten our journey by three hundred miles. It was built in the early days of ancient Illefarn. The gate will take us from the Ardeep Forest to an abandoned watchtower in the eastern portion of the Trollbark Forest."
"Is it safe to use?" Grayth asked, with no small anxiety.
"The portal is sound enough, though we will have to be careful when we reach the other side," Araevin answered. "The Trollbark is aptly named. But we won't cross more than ten miles or so of that forest before we meet the Trade Way again."
"Would it be better to remain on the road?" Ilsevele asked.
"I don't know. The road has its perils, too-brigands and marauding monsters from the High Moor, thieves and cutthroats in the roadside inns. On the other hand time might be important."
They rode on for the rest of the day, and by nightfall the company had reached the outskirts of the Ardeep Forest. The sea wind kept its strength all day and into the evening, though with sunset a low, scudding cloud cover set in, making for a lightless and gloomy night. The House of Long Silences was still almost ten miles farther on, so they decided to camp for the night in the shelter of a ruined hunting lodge, a moss-covered building made of rough-hewn logs and fieldstone. It was open to the sky, but with a little work they hoisted some of the fallen timbers back into place and spread evergreen boughs over the gaps. After stabling the horses in the other half of the old lodge and fixing supper over the campfire, they drew for watches and retired.
Araevin stretched himself out on his bedroll beneath a blanket, gazing up through the gaps in the makeshift roof at the gray clouds overhead. Though elves didn't sleep, they still needed a comfortable place to sit or lie down while they drifted off into the dreamlike Reverie. Anything a human could sleep in or on was more than adequate. Ilsevele lay by his side, her hand in his, her breathing slow and deep. He wondered what she thought of human-crowded Faerun so far, and that reminded him of his first impressions when he traveled the continent. He wandered drowsily into the memories of his old journeys, and an hour or more passed as he gazed absently up at the clouds.
An electric jolt returned him to full wakefulness. Araevin sat upright with a gasp, his heart thundering. One of his alarm spells, a ward against scrying and magical spying, had been triggered. He scrambled to his feet and whirled around to see a strange, semitangible puckering in the air, the manifestation of some sort of divination magic. Within the distorted knuckle of air he glimpsed a sharply handsome face surmounted by two small black horns, one eye concealed beneath a rune-marked eye patch.
The daemonfey, he realized. They are spying on us!
"Araevin! What is it?" cried Ilsevele, startled by his sudden movement.
She seized her bow and groped for an arrow, rising to her knees as she searched wildly for a target.
Araevin ignored her and quickly worked a dispelling enchantment, wiping out the spell the other sorcerer was using. He sensed a growl of frustration, a snarl of pure hate, and the connection was severed. The mage closed his eyes and carefully enunciated the words of an amplifying spell, then stretched out his wizard's senses to encompass the whole camp. He could feel a distant presence, a tenuous thread linking their campsite with a far-off place many miles to the north and west.
"We have been spied on," Araevin said finally. "A scrying spell. I negated it."
Ilsevele paled and asked, "Who was it? Do they know where we are?"
"It was that daemonfey we saw at Reilloch," Araevin replied. "The one with the eye patch. Most likely all he knows is that we are in Faerun, camping in a forest. He did not watch us long enough to perceive more. But I wonder if he has spied on us before without our noticing him."
The rest of the company sat up in their bedrolls, looking at Araevin. Even Grayth, who had the watch, got up from the fireside and circled closer.
"Someone scried us?" the cleric asked.
"Yes," said Araevin. "I defeated this attempt, at least. I must remember to renew my defenses regularly from now on, to detect and block any such additional attempts in the future. They saw enough to recognize me, and perhaps Ilsevele too.
"Someone knows we're here."
Five days had passed since Hill Elder Imesfor of Evereska had presented his city's plea to the High Council of Evermeet-five days of bitterly divisive debate, argument, and strife that left Seiveril Miritar as cold and empty as last month's ashes at the end of each day. Imesfor had returned to Evereska already, of course. Given the approach of an enemy army, the Hill Elder could not linger in Evermeet to plead his case in person. Seiveril therefore took up the Evereskan's cause as his own. He used every argument, every wile he could think of to shake the intransigence of Durothil, Veldann, and the other conservatives in the council, but to no avail. The council could not resolve to send Evermeet's army into danger again, not so soon after the costly campaign against the phaerimm and Kymil Nimesin's invasion.
As the sun fell on the eighth day of Ches, Seiveril returned to his comfortable townhouse, a small palace of white stone in the hills overlooking Leuthilspar's harbor. Even though their ancestral lands lay along Evermeet's northern coasts, like many other noble families, the Miri-tars had maintained a residence in the capital for some centuries. The high priest donned his clerical robes and went straight to a small grove close by his palace to perform the daily rites and invocations welcoming starrise, the time holy to Corellon Larethian. He was so exhausted and sick with frustration that he stumbled over the familiar words.
With a sigh, Seiveril halted in his devotions. He was alone in the grove. Any elves who wished the clerics of Corellon to seek some special blessing or intercede on their behalf with the other deities of the Seldarine usually sought out the Uilaevelen, the Moongrove, Leuthilspar's living temple to the elf gods. Feeling as weary as an aged human, Seiveril stared up into the sky, where a few faint and distant stars were beginning to appear in the gaps between the clouds.
"Lord of the Seldarine, give me patience and strength," he prayed. "Help me to find the way to guide your People onto the right path. I cannot do it myself."
He watched the sky darken for some time, his mind calm and empty. Then, as he turned away, he caught sight of a white owl winging silently through the treetops. Seiveril scented magic in the air. The beautiful creature hooted softly and wheeled over his head before descending to the ground. Then the owl shimmered into a fountain of silver light, growing and changing. In a moment Queen Amlaruil stood before him, dressed in a silvery gown with a cloak of soft white feathers draped over her shoulders.
"Good evening, Lord Miritar," she said. "I hope you will forgive this unusual intrusion, but I wished to have a word with you without the rest of the council at hand."
Seiveril bowed and replied, "You startled me, my lady. I sometimes forget that you were a grand mage before you w
ere queen. What can I do for you?"
"You can listen, and perhaps understand. I have come to tell you that I have composed my reply to Evereska's request for assistance."
"You have decided not to help them," the lord said. "You wanted to tell me first."
The queen nodded and said, "I will send what help I can,
Seiveril. Without showing my hand I can send a number of mages, spellarchers, spellsingers, and bladesingers to Evereska. Some of them can journey on from there to fight in the High Forest. But I cannot send any high mages, and I cannot send more than a few dozen carefully chosen warriors. And of course, I will offer safe haven here in Evermeet to any elf who seeks it."
"It is not enough. Even if Evereska has the strength to fend off this newest assault, we cannot take the chance that the city will be weakened any further."
"And I will not be permitted to take the chance that Evermeet might be rendered vulnerable by sending more of our strength to the mainland," said Amlaruil. She folded her arms beneath the white cape. "You have seen that the council cannot reach consensus on any response that requires us to send our warriors to Faerun. While we waste time in debate, the danger to our kinfolk grows each day. I will do what I can now."
"My queen, it is up to you to end the debate," Seiveril said. "The council serves at your pleasure. We hold no authority other than that of our collective titles and stations. If we cannot agree, then you must decide. You hold your throne to defend Evermeet, and all the People everywhere, against the threats that gather in this world. It is your paramount duty. You cannot allow Selsharra Durothil and Ammisyll Veldann to hinder you from taking whatever steps are necessary to preserve our civilization."
"Do not presume to lecture me on my duties, Lord Miritar. I may have only held the throne for sixty years, but I have stood beside it for more than five hundred."
Seiveril lowered his gaze and said, "I apologize, my lady."
Amlaruil stood in silence for a long moment. Then her face softened.
"You know as well as I that I rule by the consent of the People. I am not a tyrant who can drive my subjects in any direction I choose. The monarch of Evermeet represents the collective will of all the People and must remain subservient to their goals and desires, not her own. While I may not care for the ambitions and arrogance of Du-rothil or Veldann or any of the other Houses who follow them, I cannot escape this one fact: Perhaps as much as a third of Evermeet's folk believe strongly that spending our strength to defend realms in Faerun is pure folly.''
"They are mistaken," Seiveril said.
"I am inclined to believe so too, though I find that I lack your unshakable certainty on the question. But regardless of how I feel about the matter, I cannot ignore the reservations of so many of my subjects."
"Reservations or not, elves are in dire peril in Faerun. We cannot stand by and do nothing!" Seiveril took a small step toward the queen and caught her hand in both of his. "Send something, I beg you. Whatever force you dispatch will be better than nothing. Surely, Durothil and Veldann cannot prevent you from doing that."
"Yet they can," Amlaruil said with a sigh. She extricated her hand from Seiveril's and turned away, pacing across the moonlit glade. "Soon after the council adjourned for the day, Selsharra Durothil came to speak to me privately. She informed me that if I dispatched any expedition to Faerun, she would recall all Durothils from Evermeet's service-and with them, the Veldanns, as well as all the Houses that owe them fealty. That constitutes something like three in ten of our mages and warriors."
Seiveril's stomach ached with dread.
"Surely," he said, "not all of the Durothils and Veldanns would abandon their oaths and return to their homes?"
"Some would defy Lady Durothil, I am sure. But how many others from different families might be encouraged to express their own private reservations in the same way?" Amlaruil hugged her shoulders against the growing chill in the night air and continued, "I dare not call her bluff, Seiveril. If my actions force the strong sun elf Houses to repudiate their allegiance to the throne, I open the door for horrors such as we cannot imagine. No, I must accept that Evermeet's heart is divided on the question of whether to turn our faces toward Faerun or away from it, and as long as Evermeet's heart is so troubled, my own must be too."
"Durothil needs to be put in her place," Seiveril snarled into the night. "The Seldarine themselves have anointed House Moonflower as the ruling House of Evermeet. If she opposes you, that is one thing, but she is trying her will against that of Corellon Larethian himself, and that I will not stand."
"That may be the case, but it is not for me to punish her, nor for you." Amlaruil looked back to Seiveril and said, "I must return before I am missed. Since you have argued so passionately for intervention, I wanted you to hear my decision first, and I wanted you to know why I made it. Needless to say, I do not want anyone else to know of the threat Lady Durothil issued me. I am entrusting you with this so that you will understand why you must yield the point."
Seiveril closed his eyes and replied, "I will not repeat this to anyone. It stands between the two of us and the Seldarine alone."
"Good." Amlaruil whispered the words of an arcane spell, and her form began to glow silver and shift its shape again. "Your passion does you credit, Seiveril. My hands may be tied, but perhaps yours are not."
An instant later, she took wing again, a white shadow flitting through the darkness beneath the trees.
Seiveril watched her fly off, his mind turning. The gods themselves had ordained the ascendancy of House Moon-flower, yet still there were those who envied Amlaruil's rule and thought to govern in her place. He looked up to the stars overhead again.
"Corellon, show me the path," he whispered. "There must be something I can do."
The forest seemed chill and shadowed, empty in the growing darkness. But then a single moonbeam broke through a gap in the clouds to flood the silent grove with silver light. Seiveril turned his face up to Selune, and an idea arose in his mind. The audacity of it staggered him, but if it worked-if it worked! — he might turn the course of events as surely as a few well-placed stones might alter a river's flow.
Dank green moss clung heavily to the twisted limbs of the dark-boled trees looming overhead. Araevin and his companions had traveled three hundred miles south with a few short steps through the ancient elfgate in the House of Long Silences. The broken stump of an abandoned elven watchtower dating back to old Miyeritar stood over the southerly arch of the elfgate. Its ragged top no longer pierced the dense, close canopy of the forest, but the plaza of cracked flagstones surrounding it created a small clearing beneath the trees.
"I don't like the looks of this," Maresa said. The pale genasi led her horse away from the gate, studying the shadows under the trees. "The whole place positively reeks of trolls."
"They prefer to hunt by night," Araevin said. "With luck, we'll reach clear ground before dark. We would be wise to proceed without delay." He nodded at a thickly overgrown trail leading away from the tower, following the bed of an ancient roadway. "If we follow that path, we'll meet the Trade Way in about ten miles."
"You've come this way before?" asked Ilsevele.
"Once, about fifty years ago, when I was engaged in exploring the portals in Elorfindar's care. I was fortunate enough to avoid the trolls, but there are a couple of difficult stream crossings ahead."
"Nothing brightens a day of winter travel like the prospect of a good soaking," Grayth observed. He sighed and took his mount by the reins, leading it away from the tower. The brush and tree limbs overhanging the path were too thick for riding.
Ilsevele, as the most wood-wise of the party, took the lead, bow in hand. Araevin followed her, leading both his horse and hers so that she could watch the trail ahead without tending a mount. Maresa and Grayth followed, and the young swordsman Brant brought up the rear, leading the packhorse along with his own mount.
The trail was much as Araevin remembered it, climbing steeply up and down as
it wandered eastward over a series of fingerlike ridges stretching north from the nearby Troll Hills. The forest was soggy and cold, with swift, narrow rivulets of water rushing down in hundreds of nameless little brooks that crossed their path, and when the trail reached the ravine and valley floors between the ridges, it usually met a loud, swift, and cold stream.
At the boulder-strewn bank of one such stream about an hour's walk from the tower, Araevin found Ilsevele crouched over the trail.
"Tracks?" he asked.
She glanced up as he approached and said, "How often do people come this way?"
"It's not really on the way to anywhere. Adventuring companies searching for the Warlock's Crypt might pass this way. I suppose there are a few who might seek out the watchtower, hoping to find some lost elven treasure or maybe make use of the portal, as we did. What do you see?"
"Troll sign, not more than a few hours old. At least four or five of them, I think. They're following the trail ahead of us." Ilsevele straightened and brushed off her hands. "I've seen tracks both coming and going. We may meet these fellows if they come back this way."
The company pressed on, fording the stream and climbing back up the heavily overgrown ridge on the far side. They marched for another two hours, as the overcast slowly descended and a cold rain began to fall, lightly at first but growing more steady as the afternoon wore on. The going was even more difficult than Araevin remembered. At no point did the trail open up enough for them to mount their horses, and finding ways to get the animals across the treacherous broken streambeds took far more time than he had supposed. By dusk Araevin guessed that they still had three or four more miles before reaching the forest's edge. He began to consider the question of whether they should push on, or make camp.
A shrill cry from ahead interrupted his thoughts.
Trolls!" shouted Ilsevele. "Trolls!"
Araevin looked up from the trail, only to realize that Ilsevele had gotten far enough ahead of him that he could not see her through the dense underbrush. He cursed himself for allowing his attention to narrow to the trail right in front of his feet, and hurriedly threw the reins of his horse over a nearby branch.
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