Forsaken House tlm-1

by Richard Baker

  "The Silvaeren marched south from Everlund and passed west of Yesve," Xhalph replied. "He had to march far and fast to meet the humans when they left the Yartar road, and all he has been able to do is harry their advance. Since he could not stop them, I recalled his warband to add it to my own forces."

  "That is sound. I approve," Sarya said. She thought over the suggestion, her slender tail slithering anxiously from side to side. "Evereska has proven harder than I had thought. A strong expedition from Evermeet has reinforced the LastHome. We were checked in our first attempt to enter the Vine Vale."

  "Abandon the orcs and giants," Xhalph rumbled. "Evereska can be taken with an aerial assault while the palebloods* army sits in the mountains. You can sack the city without even engaging them."

  Sarya looked over her shoulder at her towering son, and cocked an eyebrow. Xhalph had little use for stratagems of maneuver, but from time to time he surprised her-which did not mean that he was right.

  "We lack the numbers to take the city with fey'ri alone," she said.

  "Each of our fey'ri is a formidable opponent, Mother. Elf for elf, our warriors are better fighters than the palebloods."

  "I have studied Evereska's defenses exhaustively through the telthukiilir, Xhalph. The forces that guard the city outnumber our fey'ri legion, and include many mages and clerics. And you discount the mythal," Sarya said as she paced back and forth. "It may be that we could take the city, but we would suffer dreadful losses. More demons can be summoned, more orcs and giants bribed or threatened to march in our forces, but my fey'ri are irreplaceable, and they would be the ones who die in an aerial attack. Your suggestion would also leave our enemy's true strength, the army at the Sentinel pass, untouched. We would not keep the city for long."

  "Do we need to?" Xhalph growled.

  Sarya glared at him.

  "Yes", she hissed. "It means nothing to win a battle if ultimately it will cost us the war. When I take Evereska, I mean to keep it. Our enemies destroyed our homeland, leaving us an army without a realm. We will not long survive in this new age if we remain such."

  "Should I abandon my attack on the wood elves and bring my warriors to join you at Evereska?"

  "No. I need to draw out their army and expose it. You must press your attack on the wood elves with all your strength and ferocity. Meanwhile, I will retreat from Evereska's gates, and feign a disordered withdrawal while I rebuild our numbers. The palebloods will be tempted to pursue. After all, they will want to make sure that my army is truly defeated, and does not make its way to the High Forest to finish the destruction of the wood elves. But I will lay a trap for them"

  Xhalph grinned and said, "Turning an enemy's hopes to disaster is the essence of strategy. But what if the Evereskans do not give chase?"

  "Then I will in fact bring the entire fey'ri legion to the High Forest, and we will make a smoking hell of the mongrel elves' homeland. After which, we will add your soldiers to mine, and return to Evereska to finish what we started. Now go, and redouble your efforts against the wood elves. I have some special preparations to make."

  Xhalph bowed and said, "I will make you a throne of Eaerlanni skulls, Mother."

  He stepped back and teleported away, vanishing in an orange cloud of brimstone.

  "You'll have to catch them first," Sarya said after him.

  She took one more look from the portico and stepped inside the hall. The city was not completely empty. A hundred or so fey'ri remained behind to garrison the place and guard the treasures Sarya had brought to the city, and bands of orcs and trolls encircled the hilltop with their squalid camps, making ready to march on the High Forest and join the fighting there.

  She abandoned the ruined splendor of the grand mage's hall, and descended into the secret delvings beneath the hill, passing through the steep tunnels and great caverns, taking wing when it suited her. She disliked so much stone over her head-how could she not, after so many centuries of living entombment? — but she was not so weak-willed that she allowed herself to avoid going where she must.

  Powerful magic wards defended the hidden depths of her buried citadel, defenses that not even the fey'ri were permitted to pass. With long familiarity she made the signs and spoke the passwords, finally spiraling down through a great vertical shaft to a mighty chamber far below.

  A great boulder of pale pink stone lay at the bottom of the shaft, hundreds of feet below the Grand Mage's Hall above. A beard of green moss clung to the rock, staining its glossy surface. To anyone with arcane sight the stone virtually pulsed with power. It was an artifact of pure magic, the keystone of the great mythal of magic that had once shielded Myth Glaurach, and while the city above had long since fallen into ruin, the mighty enchantments laid into the stone over decades of work still endured. Once the stone had rested in the grand mage's garden, near the center of the city above, but Sarya guessed that during Myth Glaurach's final days it had been moved to the buried pit in order to protect it from the attackers, in hopes that someday the folk of Eaerlann might return and wake its slumbering power to rebuild their realm. That had never happened; she had found it instead.

  "Welcome, Sarya." A deep, melodious voice filled the chamber, speaking from the air itself. "How goes your war against Evereska?"

  "Our first attack has been repulsed," Sarya said. She suspected that the unseen speaker knew perfectly well how matters stood. "Evermeet reinforced the city with much greater strength than I expected. I need more demons and yugoloths to destroy this foe. Many more."

  "You have summoned a great number in the last few days."

  "I have no other choice. I need soldiers-powerful soldiers."

  "You will have to sustain them in your world with the mythal's power, as before."

  "That takes time," Sarya growled. "I need a great army of mighty fiends, enough to scour all this land of my ancient enemies. Is there nothing more you can do to help me?"

  "You could empty the nether planes to fill your ranks, Sarya, if you could reweave this mythal in the proper way. Without the proper high magic rites you cannot alter the basic purposes for which the mythal was raised over Myth Glaurach."

  "I know," Sarya snapped. "You have told me many times, Malkizid. Unfortunately, only one of my line ever mastered high magic, and his knowledge is not available to me-though I may soon be able to remedy that shortcoming."

  "You have found Saelethil's arcana?" the voice said, surprised.

  "Not yet, though I am closer than I have ever been. Nurthel is seeking the third of Ithraides's telkiira even as we speak." Sarya caressed the mythal stone, feeling its magic stir beneath her fingertips, and continued, "Deciphering the telkiira may be the work of tendays or months, and my army requires reinforcement now."

  "I eagerly anticipate your success."

  "So do I."

  Sarya bared her teeth in a fierce smile. Then she drew a deep breath, gathering her strength for the ordeal ahead. She had prepared her spells for the day with that task in mind, and so dozens of powerful conjurations filled her mind, a jumble of arcane symbols and words of binding that she could scarcely hold. By herself, she could call up another dozen or fifteen demons with her spells, and that would be useful, of course, but by drawing on the power of the mythal she would be able to re-use her spells over and over, and fix the demons she summoned to her plane by the power of the ancient device. All it took was time and her own personal attention. She raised her hands and called the first of the demons.

  The fey'ri stripped Araevin and his companions of their weapons and armor, binding them securely with shackles of enchanted steel. Then the captain of the fey'ri, the one-eyed sorcerer in the armor of golden scales, drew a scroll from a case at his belt and read out a spell quickly and surely, the arcane words falling from his tongue with a sibilant hiss. In the cold damp of Grimlight's lair, a shining gold hoop appeared on the wet stone floor.

  Exactly like the one we saw them use in Tower Reilloch, Araevin realized.

  He was not given much time
to wonder about the destination. The fey'ri soldiers dragged him to his feet and marched him to the circle, their taloned hands firmly gripping his arms.

  A faint golden aura rose around Araevin and his escorts, and his stomach dropped away from him in the disconcerting way it often did during teleportation. Then he was somewhere else, a great, dark hall with a floor of smooth black marble and walls of glittering rock. Globes of crimson mage-light drifted aimlessly high overhead, illuminating a sheer rift at one end of the room, from which a breath of stale, cold air sighed.

  "Where are we?" Araevin asked. "Who are you, and what do you want with us?"

  The sorcerer-captain studied him with his single green eye, and deliberately stepped forward and slapped Araevin with all his might. The blow snapped Araevin's head back and set bright white stars reeling in his vision. His knees buckled and he would have fallen, but the fey'ri swordsmen beside him held him upright.

  "You will address me with respect," the sorcerer stated. "I am Lord Nurthel Floshin. You need know nothing else for now."

  Araevin sensed magic at work as the teleportation hoop functioned again, and Ilsevele was dragged through by more of the fey'ri. He managed to catch her eye and he shook his head subtly, encouraging her to remain silent. In a few moments the rest of their captors had joined them, the last demons dragging the coin-filled chests the behir had hoarded. Araevin took the opportunity to study the room as best he could. It was deep underground, that much was clear. The very air seemed to glimmer with a strange quality-a powerful, pervasive magic, harnessed to the place.

  We're inside a mythal of some kind, he realized. Where do mythals still stand?

  Araevin's guards stirred, and he was jerked around to face a hallway behind him. Light footfalls sounded beyond the archway, and a daemonfey woman appeared.

  Short and girlish in appearance, she was strikingly beautiful in spite of her clearly demonic heritage-her scarlet skin, slender tail, and long, leathery wings gave that much away. She wore black robes with a scalloped, stiff cut, finished with elaborate gold embroidery. Her eyes glowed with green malice as she circled Araevin and his comrades, studying them.

  "I am weary, Nurthel," she said. "Is this who I think it is?"

  "Yes, my queen. I brought them directly to you," the fey'ri captain said.

  "Kneel, paleblood dog!" growled one of Araevin's guards. The elf mage was shoved to his knees, as were his companions. "Grovel before your queen!"

  "Go to hell," Maresa snapped, but she was quickly hammered to the ground by three or four cruel kicks and blows.

  "Well done, Nurthel," the woman said. She gazed at each of them before fixing her emerald eyes on Araevin. "I am Sarya Dlardrageth, and you will be my guests for a short time. The comforts of your visit are largely up to you. Now, who are you?"

  Araevin briefly considered a sullen silence, but given the way Maresa had been mishandled, it seemed likely that the daemonfey would eventually compel him to speak. He decided to save his resistance for something that mattered.

  "Araevin Teshurr," he said, his jaw still aching from Nurthel's open-handed slap.

  "And your companions?"

  "So you are the Dlardrageths," Araevin said. "You have survived all the long centuries since Siluvanede's fall… and no one knew. Where are we?"

  Sarya snorted softly and said, "You forget who is asking the questions." She glanced at Nurthel. "Has he opened the third stone?"

  Nurthel shook his head, then he produced the telkiira from a hidden pocket and carried it to Sarya's divan. "Good," said Sarya.

  Sarya examined the gemstone closely, turning away from her captives.

  Over her shoulder, she said, "Since you have not told me who your companions are, Araevin, choose one of them to die-the human dog or the planar mongrel, I don't care. If you don't pick, I'll kill them both."

  "Wait!" cried Araevin. He indicated them with a nod of his head. "He is Grayth Holmfast, a cleric of Lathander. She is Maresa Rost. And this is Ilsevele Miritar." He drew a deep breath, and fixed his eyes on Sarya's back. "You've won. You have your damned telkiira. The others had no part in this affair. I asked them to join me in recovering the stones. Let them go, and you can do as you will with me."

  Sarya laughed aloud-a husky, predatory sound-and said, "Why, Araevin, I believe I will do with you as I please, regardless. You have little to bargain with."

  "They'll most likely kill us anyway, Araevin," Grayth growled. "There isn't much point in trying to spare us any trouble."

  "I thought I heard a dog barking," Sarya remarked.

  Nurthel turned at once and snapped a vicious circle kick to Grayth's chin, smashing the cleric to the floor. Grayth groaned once and lay still, knocked senseless by the blow.

  In spite of his determination to endure whatever petty malice the daemonfey chose to inflict, Araevin surged to his feet before the demons behind him caught his shackled arms and hurled him back down to the cold, marble floor.

  "Get on with it, then!" he snarled, spitting blood from his mouth. "Whatever you're going to do, do it."

  "Ready to die already?" Sarya laughed.

  Araevin simply glared at her. The daemonfey queen arose and paced near. She leaned down close to him, and held the green-black gemstone before his face.

  "Don't you want to find out what is in this third stone," Sarya teased, "and puzzle out the little mystery Philaerin left for you, the old fool?"

  Araevin glanced up, despite himself. Sarya smiled and drew away, her sharp nails gliding across his cheek.

  Araevin forced himself to say, "If Philaerin had lived, you never would have found any of the telkiira!*

  "That is not entirely true, paleblood. The second and third stones we never would have found without your help. But the first stone… that one belongs to me. I took it from Kaeledhin more than five thousand year ago, and I gave it to Nurthel to conceal on Philaerin's body once he'd killed the high mage. I knew that some enterprising young fool just like you would find it and seek out its sisters."

  Araevin looked at her blankly. He couldn't make sense of it. The daemonfey had the stone, and hid it in the stronghold of their enemies? Were the telkiira some form of insidious trap? Had the daemonfey manufactured them to destroy Philaerin? It explained how the daemonfey found him so quickly with their scrying spells and anticipated his efforts to find the stones. In fact, they had likely prepared the telkiira with enchantments that would make its bearer easier to find. He felt sick.

  "You spied on me, waiting for me to find each stone. They are sealed against you."

  Sarya paced away again, pausing to study Ilsevele before nodding in approval.

  "A fine-looking girl," said Sarya, looking at Ilsevele. "I should give you to my son. We need more Dlardrageths." Ilsevele's face paled, but she refused to look away from Sarya until the daemonfey turned back to Araevin. "Yes, they are sealed against us. You can open the telkiira, but we cannot. Before my imprisonment, I spent years trying to open Kaeledhin's key with no success."

  Araevin shook his head, horrified. All his efforts since the raid on Tower Reilloch had played directly into the hands of the daemonfey queen.

  Ilsevele drew herself up and looked Sarya in the eye.

  "What are the stones for?" she demanded. "Why are they important?"

  "We were betrayed9, Sarya hissed. "The telkiira are the key to redressing many wrongs. My family was destroyed by the Coronal of Arcorar and his High Spell — star, Ithraides. Only a few of us escaped from Arcorar.

  "Of all the heirlooms we abandoned in Arcorar, the greatest was the selukiira known as the Nightstar. High mages of my House preserved many of the old secrets of glorious Aryvandaar in its depths. After the Coronal of Arcorar destroyed my family, Ithraides discovered our selukiira in the ruins of our palace. He hid it away very carefully to make sure it would never fall into our hands again, but he recorded the hiding spot in these three telkiira you have helped us find.

  "During the days of my exile in Siluvanede, I searched
assiduously for the Nightstar. With the secrets of the selukiira, I could remake Siluvanede in the image of glorious Aryvandaar, and take the throne denied my House for generations. I found Kaeledhin, and from him I extracted the tale of what Ithraides had done with my family's heirloom. But I could not defeat Ithraides' wards guarding the telkiira, and so I could not follow it to its fellows or discern the hiding place of the Nightstar."

  "Siluvanede fell almost five thousand years ago," Ilsevele said. She tossed her head and studied Sarya with determination. "Why wait for so long?"

  "Because my enemies buried my son and I in a forgotten tomb, and claimed that they were showing us mercy!" Sarya whirled away from Ilsevele and stalked over to Araevin again. She stooped and cupped his face in her hand. Her iron-hard nails dug into his flesh. "And that is where you come in, my paleblooded friend. We cannot use these telkiira, since they were made to deny us access. You, on the other hand, can read these stones and tell us where our heirloom lies."

  "I will not help you," he rasped.

  "I have waited five thousand years to come into my inheritance," Sarya said. "I am not about to be balked by any inconvenient stubbornness on your part, paleblood." She gripped his face until blood ran from the points of her fingernails. She leaned close to whisper in his ear, "You understand what I am capable of, I think. I will not harm you, not at first. But the things that will happen to your companions, they will be hard to watch. When shall we begin?"

  "Once I do as you ask, all our lives are forfeit. Now or later, what is the difference?" Araevin quivered with terror, but he kept his voice even and level. "If you let the others go, I will do as you ask. But I must know that they are safe before I cooperate."

  "As you wish," Sarya said. "I would love to explore the question of how much pain you could stand to inflict on your comrades. But it might take a little time to persuade you to cooperate, and I am out of patience."

  She wove her hands in arcane passes, and began to speak the words of a spell. Araevin recognized it at once and steeled his will to resist. Sarya's spell settled over his mind, seeking to shackle his will to hers. Shadowy fingers seemed to creep into his soul, insidious as serpents, their merest touch enough to render him cold and numb. He bared his teeth in a fierce snarl and battled against the enchantment, refusing to buckle beneath the daemonfey queen's sorcery.