Forsaken House tlm-1

by Richard Baker

  The second hezrou raked at Starbrow with its huge claws, but the moon elf ducked beneath the blow and rolled up under the demon's guard. He took off its left leg at the knee as he passed by. The demon toppled, black blood pouring from the wound, but snapped and clawed at Starbrow even as it fell. The elf champion danced back out of reach, and darted in to bury Keryvian's point between the hezrou's eyes. Again the sword flashed with its terrible white light, and another demon lay dead.

  The third demon wheeled to face the threat of Keryvian, turning its back on Seiveril.

  "I will take that sword from your dead hand!" the creature snarled.

  It hammered Starbrow with a blast of unholy power, staggering him, but Seiveril hurled himself at the demon's back and smashed the base of its spine with a mighty blow of his holy mace. The hezrou shrieked and threw its arms up in the air, toppling forward-and Starbrow took its head with his white sword.

  Seiveril looked over the bodies of the hezrous to Fflar and said, aMy thanks, friend. You saved my life."

  Fflar offered a smile and replied, "It only seems fair. Here, stay close by me. You watch my back, and I'll watch yours."

  Seiveril glanced around at the furious battle. Elf bodies lay everywhere he looked, but many demons had fallen with them. Straight ahead, the Seldarine Knights of the Golden Star advanced with the sunrise behind them, gleaming like titans of gold as they battled against the foul tide. And to his right Ilsevele, Araevin, and their friends fought a terrible glabrezu. Ilsevele sent arrow after arrow into the creature's torso, while Araevin hammered at the monster with powerful spell blasts, and the cleric Grayth warded them all with his divine spell shields.

  "There!" Seiveril called to Fflar. "The glabrezu!"

  Fflar nodded and dashed off down the hillside, leaping down at the monster. Seiveril followed, only a step behind. The towering, dog-faced demon seized Grayth in one of its pincer hands and began to squeeze the armored human in its grasp, but then the genasi Maresa darted in and skewered its hamstring with her rapier. The monster roared and batted her away with a backhand slap of another arm-and Fflar and Seiveril were upon the monster. Fflar laid open its thigh with two great cuts of his sword, while Seiveril smashed its kneecap with his holy mace.

  "I will destroy you all!" the demon rumbled.

  It hurled Grayth aside and reached for Fflar. Then a silver arrow lodged in the side of its neck, and black blood foamed through its mouth. The demon groped closer, catching Seiveril with a weak blow that the cleric easily parried with his shield, and it collapsed facedown in the heather of the hillside.

  "Well met, Father," said Ilsevele. She hurried forward, her bow still in her hand. Seiveril winced when he saw that she limped badly, blood streaming from a long cut on her hip. Araevin's cloak was tattered and singed, and the human Grayth was slow in picking himself up from the ground. "How are we doing?"

  "We're still holding," Seiveril managed.

  He looked around to see what had happened while he had been busy fighting for his own life, and he was surprised to see the daemonfey army falling back. Those demons who had survived the fray on the hilltop vanished one by one, teleporting away from the charge of the Knights of the Golden Star. The surging tide of orc warriors and marauding ogres retreated as well, their charge finally arrested by the terrible losses to bow, spell, and sword. Even the fey'ri overhead were falling back, unwilling to engage the elven army without the savage tribes of orcs to divide the elves' attention.

  Maresa followed his glance.

  "Actually, I'd say you've held," she observed. "Damn, but was that a fight!"

  Fflar turned to Seiveril, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, "Congratulations, Seiveril. You've won your first battle."

  Seiveril looked out over the carnage of the elven lines. He felt weary beyond words, weary enough that a breath of wind would be sufficient to carry him to Arvandor. With the sounds of battle fading into a few isolated clashes of steel and occasional spells instead of the deafening crescendo of a few minutes before, he could hear the piteous cries of the wounded and dying-elf, orc, and ogre alike- over all the battlefield. He looked down and noticed that his armor was spattered with blood.

  "Have I, Starbrow?" he said quietly. "Because if I have, I don't know how many more battles we can afford to win."

  At the end of the day Seiveril summoned Araevin, Ilsevele, and their companions to the post he had picked out for his standard, a simple guardhouse close by the Sunset Gate. In peaceful times it had served as a watch-post and a place for a dozen or so of Evereska's soldiers to stand guard over the path leading from the West Cwm to the Vine Vale. It had come to serve as the center of a sprawling field hospital. Hundreds of wounded elves lay beneath light shelters quickly raised to protect them from the elements. Several strong companies of knights and mages stood guard in case the daemonfey decided to mount a raid against the wounded.

  None of Araevin's companions had been seriously hurt, so they had spent their day combing the battlefield for elves whose lives might still be saved by a cleric's spells or a potion of healing, while standing guard against a resumption of the fight. But the daemonfey had retired all the way to the Sentinel Pass, hard pressed by Muirreste's cavalry and Vesilde Gaerth's Golden Star knights. They did not mount another attack, though Araevin suspected that they might try the gate again under cover of darkness, when the orcs were not exposed to the daylight they so detested.

  They found Seiveril working among the wounded, Starbrow standing guard over him. As a powerful cleric of Corellon Larethian, Lord Miritar knew much of the healing arts. Even though he had long since exhausted any healing magic he could muster, he still used his knowledge and lore to do what he could for the wounded. Seiveril looked up from the injured wood elf he'd been tending and offered Araevin and Ilsevele a weary smile.

  "Ah, there you are," he said. "I am glad to see that you're all in one piece. Too many of our folk have fallen today."

  "How bad is it?" Araevin asked.

  "More than we can bear," Seiveril said. He stood and showed them out of the shelter, leading the way as they walked back toward the stone watchpost. "So far we've counted over five hundred dead, and at least that many wounded seriously enough that they'll need a cleric's spells before they can fight again. And we lost some irreplaceable leaders, as well."

  "Who fell?" Ilsevele asked, visibly steeling herself.

  "Celeilol Fireheart died in the first rush, standing at the head of the Leuthilspar spearmen. He was hacked down by a band of orc berserkers. The bladesinger Hara-eth Echorn was slain by demon fire. Geren Festryth was torn apart by trolls." Seiveril sighed. "Jorildyn tells me that we lost almost twenty of our mages and spellsingers, and you well know that they are worth their weight in gold. And I just learned that Elvath Muirreste died an hour ago, pursuing the daemonfey horde on the shoulders of the Sentinel. I never imagined such a disaster."

  They reached the small stone building, and Seiveril threw himself down on a plain wooden bench in the guard post, his head in his hands. The others followed. Araevin sank down with his back to the wall, too tired to stand any longer. He watched Seiveril, head bowed in grief, and glanced at Ilsevele and Grayth.

  Grayth watched the elf commander, and took a breath.

  "Each death is terrible," the human cleric said, "but you have not fought in vain, Lord Miritar. You repelled the daemonfey horde, and you inflicted grievous losses against them. Thousands of orcs and ogres and such lie dead in the Cwm, and we destroyed dozens and dozens of the demons and fiends who came against us. And you brought down many of the fey'ri, too. Your enemy is far less pleased with the day than you are."

  "I've tried to explain that to him," Starbrow observed, standing with his shoulders to the doorframe. "Seiveril doesn't want to see it that way."

  "All who died here, died because they answered my call!" Seiveril snapped, ire in his face. "I bear the responsibility for each of them. If I-"

  "Did you summon the Evereskans to fight in their own
defense?" Ilsevele interrupted. "Did you bring the daemonfey here? If you had not launched your crusade, Father, Evereska would even now lie under siege, surrounded by the whole of the daemonfey army. Warriors from Evermeet have laid down their lives to protect the innocents of Evereska. It is a terrible price, but our dead do not begrudge this victory. You should not either."

  Starbrow looked at Seiveril, and stepped up to grip the elflord's shoulder with one hand.

  "Seiveril," Starbrow said, "trust me when I say this: You did nothing wrong today. This is the cost of defending our homes and our lives from those who would take them from us. It's a hard cost, but the only thing more awful than a battle won is a battle lost. Give thanks for that much."

  Sensing it was time for the subject to change, Araevin asked, "What did you want to speak to us about, Lord Seiveril?"

  "I want to know more about this enemy," Seiveril said. "This is a war that is just beginning. I want to know where they came from, and why they're here. I suppose we've fought them to a stalemate today, and perhaps we may have the strength to drive them out of the Sentinel's pass and repel the daemonfey from Evereska. But even if we do that, I still don't know how to finish this war. What blow can I strike to mortally wound this foe? I am not content to chase the daemonfey into the wilds of the North and scatter their orc allies."

  "How can I help you?" Araevin asked. "Whatever it is, I will do it."

  "You know more about the daemonfey and their designs than anyone," said Seiveril. "I think that your telkiira are at the bottom of this mystery. Unravel the story of the lorestones, and you will learn something about the daemonfey that they are desperate to keep hidden from us. I want you to continue your quest for the next loregem, and find out what it is that they are hiding from us."

  "Are you certain you do not need me here?" Araevin asked. "We've lost many wizards, and I can stand spell-for-spell against any sorcerer the fey'ri have revealed so far."

  "Of course your spells would be useful, but no one else has studied these loregems, and I cannot stand the thought of abandoning them to the daemonfey. The telkiira are important, I know they are."

  Araevin glanced at his companions. He met Ilsevele's eyes, and she offered a slight nod. He looked to Grayth, who shrugged in his heavy armor.

  "If this is the deadliest blow we can strike against the daemonfey, I am all for it," the cleric said.

  "What about you, Maresa?" Ilsevele asked. "You are under no obligation to stay with us."

  The genasi crossed her arms, tossed her head, and replied, "I'm not likely to leave now, am I? I want to see how this turns out, or I'll spend the rest of my life wondering what in the Nine Hells was in that third gemstone."

  "Rest for tonight in Evereska," said Seiveril, "and leave in the morning."

  "But what if the daemonfey attack again?" Araevin asked.

  "We'll hold them," Starbrow promised. "We will have to."

  CHAPTER 14

  1 Tarsakh, the Year of Lightning Storms

  At the dawning of the day after the Battle of the Cwm, Araevin and his companions rode out of Evereska, heading north into the rugged heart of the Shaeradim. The third telkiira glimmered in Araevin's consciousness like a lingering daydream or a few notes of a familiar song that refused to be forgotten. When he closed his eyes, he could sense the gemstone, feeling its direction and closeness just as he might feel the sun on his face with his eyes closed and know whether it was a bright or cloudy day. From Evereska it lay north and somewhat west, and based on his experience in following the second telkiira's pull from Waterdeep to the Forest of Wyrms, he knew it was far off.

  Had he more time, Araevin would have been content to follow his trail on foot, closing in on the lorestone slowly and methodically. But the presence of the fey'ri army-encamped high in the Rillvale, driven back but not defeated-urged him to move faster. If the telkiira in fact harbored some secret lore that might be turned against the daemonfey, if it truly contained some useful knowledge or weapon, then it was needed in Evereska as soon as he could retrieve it. And if the telkiira quest proved to be a vain hope, then the sooner he followed the trail to its end and returned, the sooner he could lend his arcane strength to the crusade's next battle. So, instead of creeping out of the Shaeradim through one of the secret trails to the north, they spent the morning following the track deeper into the mountains, traversing higher and higher vales that not even the Evereskans visited often, until at last they reached the barren stone plinth of a high, thready waterfall that coursed down from a cliff above them. A moss-grown stone marker stood beside the pool, leaning crookedly to one side.

  "Not another one of these," Maresa observed. She dismounted and set her hands on her hips. "It can't be good to tempt Tymora's luck too often. Sooner or later we're not going to go where we think we're going."

  "Where does this one lead, Araevin?" Grayth asked.

  "If I understand the Evereskan records, it will take us to the Moonwood, somewhat north of Silverymoon."

  "Is that where the third loregem lies?"

  "Possible, but unlikely." Araevin swung himself down from his own mount, and checked to make sure his saddlebags and gear were secure. "I can feel the telkiira quite a long ways north and west of here, and this is the nearest portal I know of that leads a fair distance to the north. It's my hope that transporting ourselves to the Moonwood will bring us closer to our goal, and save us some travel."

  "We might overshoot the mark," Ilsevele said. "The Moonwood might be farther from the goal than we are right here."

  "I know, but this seems worth a try. If I feel that the telkiira is farther away once we pass to the other side of the portal, we will simply step back through and proceed from here. It costs us no more time than it took to climb up here if I'm wrong, but if I'm right, we may save days of hard riding."

  "So what sort of horrible monsters infest the Moonwood?" Maresa muttered. "Trolls and dragons again? Or something else this time?"

  Araevin replied, "The Moonwood doesn't have quite the same reputation as the Trollbark or the Forest of Wyrms. But it's been almost eighty years since I was last in Silverymoon and the lands about, so my information may be out-of-date."

  He moved over to the stone marker and studied it, softly tracing the weathered Espruar runes carved into its lichen-covered surface. Evereska's high vales concealed a handful of ancient elfgates leading to elven realms that no longer existed. Araevin cast a spell that let him study the ancient device and perceive its condition, its destination, and the method of its awakening.

  "This gate linked Evereska to a northerly outpost of the fallen realm of Sharrven," Araevin said, "on the far side of the River Rauvin. This is the right one. Be ready to move swiftly when the gate opens, for it will not remain open for long."

  Dutifully, his traveling companions ringed themselves around the elfgate, and waited for his signal. Araevin straightened, caught the reins of his horse, and led the animal closer. He spoke the ancient words needed to wake the portal, and quickly touched the device. A golden shimmer arose around him, warm and electric, and he was standing somewhere else, an overgrown clearing in a deep forest. He led his horse away from the weathered stone post marking the northern end of the portal, and watched as his companions came through one by one.

  Maresa made a show of patting her arms and legs, as if part of her might have been left behind.

  "Well, what do you know? I'm all here," she remarked. Ilsevele looked to Araevin and asked, "Are we closer, or not?"

  Araevin hesitated only a moment, pausing to make sure of the magical intuition dancing in his mind, then answered, "Yes. The loregem now lies east of us, not close, but not terribly far."

  Grayth glanced at the brooding sky.

  "More riding, then," the cleric said. "Unless you know of another portal leading in the right direction."

  "No elven realms ever stood between the Moonwood and Anauroch. I could try a teleport spell, but we'd have to leave the horses behind. And I would be guessing at whe
re I'm going, which is not wise with such magic." Araevin shook his head and concluded, "We'll have to ride from here."

  They mounted their horses again and headed east, riding beneath a cold but thankfully sparse drizzle. Winter might have been fading in the lands of the North, but spring's grip was still frail. Large patches of snow lingered under the tall trees of the forest, and the air was damp and chilly. After an hour's ride, they broke out of the eastern eaves of the Moonwood and rode across more open land, rolling hills crowned with bare, windswept heather, interspersed with thicket-filled vales and swift, cold streams. South of them rose the white peaks of a low but rugged mountain range marching off toward the east.

  Early in the afternoon they struck upon a clear track running north and south across their path. Araevin couldn't recall the exact lay of the land, but Grayth prayed for Lathander's guidance and directed the company to follow the track to the north. Toward the end of the day the track crossed a broad, swift river, icy cold but fortunately less than knee-deep at the ford.

  "We're lucky," Grayth called to Araevin over the rushing of the water. "If we come back this way in ten or fifteen days, the snowmelt will make this ford impassable!"

  "Does any of this look familiar?" Ilsevele asked Araevin.

  "I think this might be the Redrun. If we followed it south for quite a ways, we would eventually reach Sundabar."

  "This track leads in the wrong direction, then."

  "I'm not so sure." Araevin pointed at a stout marker that stood overlooking the ford. "Those are Dethek runes-Dwarvish. I think this track might skirt north of the Rauvin Mountains and head east through the Cold Vale toward Citadel Adbar."

  "I think you may be right, Araevin," Maresa said, studying the Dwarvish writing. "I can make out some of this, I think… ah, that's not good."