Final Gate (4 page)

“We were starting to wonder if you had forgotten about us,” Maresa said.

“I had to confer with some friends in Semberholme, and in Evermeet. I hurried back as quickly as I could.” Araevin took a seat at the table next to Donnor and poured himself some wine from a flagon on the table. “Has Ilsevele arrived yet?”

“No, we have not seen her for several days,” Nesterin said. The star elf was dressed in pale gray and white, with silver embroidery at the collar and sleeves. He attracted more than a few odd looks in the Oak and Spear. Deepingdalesfolk were familiar with most kindred of the elf race, but star elves were a different story. “As far as I know, she is with her father.”

Araevin glanced at the door, half-expecting Ilsevele to follow on his heels, but she did not appear. “She knows we are gathering here,” he mused. “I suppose she will be here when she can.”

“What news of the daemonfey army?” Donnor asked. He was a thickly built human almost as tall as Araevin himself, but better than eighty pounds heavier than the sun elf. He kept his scalp shaved down to stubble, and wore a closely cropped beard. His tunic was emblazoned with the sunrise emblem of Lathander, Lord of the Dawn, the deity to whom Kerth had pledged his sword and his service.

“Sarya’s demons and devils harry the borders of Semberholme every day. I don’t know if or when Seiveril will try to take the battle to the daemonfey again.”

“Glad we’re here,” Maresa muttered. “Wars are bad for the health, you know.”

“We’re not done with ours,” Donnor growled. “The daemonfey have much to answer for.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” The genasi hid her glower in her goblet, drinking deeply.

Jorin looked across the table to Araevin. “What did your `friends’ say about the threat you perceived in Sildeyuir?” the half-elf asked in a low voice. “Can they counter it?”

“They are going to study the question.”

Nesterin raised an eyebrow. “I thought the matter was urgent.”

“In my estimation, it is. But my friends in Evermeet have always been hesitant to move recklessly. They do not think it wise to exercise their power until they know precisely what will happen when they do.”

“No one can foresee all outcomes. If you wait until you think you can, you will never act at all,” the star elf said. “Sometimes it is wiser not to wait.”

“That is what I fear. As my human friends like to say, he who hesitates is lost.”

“So what are we going to do while your ‘friends’ are thinking things over?” Maresa asked.

Araevin allowed himself a small smile. Maresa had struck the nail on the head. “I think I know how to slam shut the doors that Sarya and her allies are trying to open. At the beginning of this war, Sarya used a weapon called the Gatekeeper’s Crystal to open the ancient dungeon of Nar Kerymhoarth, freeing her fey’ri legion. I can use that same device to stop her from destroying the boundaries between the planes.”

“How do we get the device away from her?” Jorin asked.

“We may not have to. Quastarte—one of my friends on Evermeet—reminded me that the crystal does not remain intact after use. It breaks into its component shards, three of them, and hurls its pieces across the world, sometimes even across the planes. I mean to find it, assemble it again, and use it to seal the Waymeet-the Last Mythal of Aryvandaar.”

“These three pieces could be anywhere?” Donnor asked. “Where do we begin?”

“The place where Sarya Dlardrageth last employed the crystal. The Gatekeeper’s Crystal often leaves at least one of its shards near the place where it was last used. It’s not much, but it’s a start.”

“Back to the High Forest again.” Maresa shook her head. “You don’t let the moss grow under your feet, do you, Araevin?”

“We’ll retrace our steps through the portals back to Myth Glaurach. I don’t think that Nar Kerymhoarth is more than two days’ ride from there.” Araevin glanced at each of his companions, and added, “It may be a long, dull, or dangerous task to reassemble the Gatekeeper’s Crystal. None of you should feel obligated to come with me.”

“Is this the best way you can think of to slip a knife between Sarya’s ribs?” Maresa asked. Araevin nodded. “Then I’m in.”

“And I,” said Donnor.

“Sildëyuir is in your debt, Araevin Teshurr,” Nesterin answered. “I will help you.”

Araevin looked to Jorin. The Aglarondan shrugged. “I haven’t traveled these lands before. I have a notion that

I’d like to see more of the west, or wherever your search leads you.”

“Thank you, my friends,” Araevin said. “We’ll set out first thing in the morning.”

He raised his goblet to his companions and drank deeply; the others followed suit. Briefly, he explained as much as he felt comfortable telling them about the Waymeet and the crystal. He glanced at the door often, expecting Ilsevele to appear at any moment, but still she did not come. Finally, it grew late, and the companions said their goodnights to one another.

The innkeeper showed Araevin to his room, and Araevin spent some time double-checking his belongings, making sure that he was ready for another long journey. Then he stretched out on the bed to rest, slipping in and out of Reverie. He did not need as much as he used to—an odd side-effect of the telmiirkara neshyrr, one that he just as soon would have done without, since it left him wakeful and alert most of the night. Eventually he found himself simply sitting at the window seat in the little room, gazing out over the sleeping town while he grappled with wheels, fonts, and bonds of magic in his mind, reflecting on the artifices of high magic he had encountered in the last few tendays.

Shortly after midnight, his reflections were disturbed by the lonely clip-clop of a horse’s hooves in the street outside his window. He shook himself and looked down. A rider in green approached, riding a small dapple-gray mare. The rider stopped before the Oak and Spear, and drew back her hood. Ilsevele shook out her copper-red hair and turned her face up to him.

“Keeping watch for me?” she asked with a small smile.

“Simply taking in the night,” he told her. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

He slipped down from the window seat, pulled on his boots, and headed down the stairs to the dark and empty common room. Ilsevele came in a moment later, still dressed in her riding cloak.

“Do you want me to rouse the innkeeper?” Araevin asked. “It’s late, but they might have something you could eat.”

“Don’t trouble the fellow. I am not hungry.” She hesitated in the doorway, studying the room. “Are the others here?”

“Yes. We were only waiting for you.” Araevin took her in his arms, and held her close, but she returned his embrace half-heartedly. When he frowned at her, she disentangled herself from his arms and stepped back. “What is it, Ilsevele?”

“Araevin,” she said, “I cannot go with you.”

“What? But why?”

“I have something else I need to do. I am leaving in the morning for the Sembian camp in Battledale. I am going to try to persuade them to make peace with us, so that we can turn our full attention against the daemonfey.”

“It’s too dangerous,” he said automatically. “You would be too valuable as a hostage. The Sembians will try to use you against your father.”

“I do not think they will.” Ilsevele raised her hand to forestall his response. “If the daemonfey and the Sembians were still allied, you would certainly be right. But Sarya turned her demons and devils against the Sembians, too. We have a common foe, and I understand that counts for much in human diplomacy.”

“Ilsevele, you don’t understand-“

“Starbrow will come along to safeguard me, Araevin. And I’ll have a trick or two up my sleeve, just in case. But we have to take the chance that the Sembians can be reasoned with, before all the Dales are laid to waste.”

He started to protest but gave up with a grimace. “Very well. But promise me you will be careful, Ilsevele.”

“Only if you do the same.” She smiled thinly. “Do not worry for me, Araevin. Our paths will cross again before long.”

“I am not as certain of that as I once was.” He sighed and brushed a hand over his eyes. “We are heading back to the High Forest.”

“The High Forest? Why?”

“Because the Gatekeeper’s Crystal—or a piece of it, anyway-may remain somewhere near Nar Kerymhoarth. I think I will need it to deal with Sarya’s wards at Myth Drannor, and her influence over the Waymeet.” He quickly explained what he had learned about the Waymeet and the disaster he feared. “Will you stay to see us off?” he finished. “Morning is not long now.”

“I can’t. We are riding for Battledale at first light. I need to get back.”

“Maresa will take it hard. She likes you more than she lets on.”

“I am fond of her, too. Take good care of them, Araevin.” Ilsevele allowed him to embrace her one more time, and she turned to go. But in the doorway, her steps slowed, and she looked back over her shoulder at him. “Araevin, there is one more thing … I heard that you spoke with the high mages on the Isle of Reverie.”

“I did.”

“I heard that they are giving careful consideration to your warning, and are deliberating on the best way to meet the danger you have seen.”

Araevin briefly wondered how the story was reaching Ilsevele. High mages rarely discussed their business with others. Could it be Amlaruil herself? Ilsevele had served as a captain in the Queen’s Guard, after all. He decided that it would be unseemly to interrogate his betrothed over the question.

“I don’t know anything about the course of their deliberations,” he said, “but I hope they intend more than just talk.”

“So instead of waiting or conferring with the high mages, you are setting out after the Gatekeeper’s Crystal immediately?” Disapproval gathered in her face.

“I don’t think we have time to wait,” Araevin answered. He paced in a small circle, trying to keep his frustration with the glacial pace of the high mages to himself, and not entirely succeeding. “While the high mages debate and ponder the right course of action, I feel doom approaching. Someone has to act now.”

“That is always the way it is with you,” Ilsevele murmured. “Something is always the only thing that matters. You are almost human in that, Araevin. You lose yourself in the moment. You always have, and since you … changed … in Mooncrescent Tower, I think it has become even more pronounced.”

“This is important,” he protested. “You know what I’ve seen. We can’t defeat the daemonfey until we can deal with Sarya’s wards in Myth Drannor, and we can’t defeat the wards without the Gatekeeper’s Crystal.”

“You cannot even see it anymore, can you?” Ilsevele was as pale and perfect as a memory in the moonlight. “I can’t feel your presence, Araevin. You are standing before me, but I don’t feel your thoughts, I can’t sense your mood. You have become a wall that I cannot see through.”

Araevin shrugged awkwardly. “It may pass,” he offered. It was true enough that he did not sense her as clearly as he had before the telmiirkara neshyrr. All elves shared a bond, a communion of sorts, that allowed them to feel what other elves nearby felt, especially those whom they loved. It was not unknown for the link to wax or wane in strength. Doubtless it had something to do with changing his nature to suit himself for high magic, but what choice had he had? He took a step toward her and reached for her hand. “Come with me, Ilsevele. I need you at my side.”

“You haven’t needed me in a long time, Araevin—and my place is here, at least for now.” She touched the side of his face, and she drew back. “I think I should go now. Good luck in your journeys. I will pray for your success.”

“Ilsevele, wait—” Araevin began, but she just shook her head and left him standing in the doorway.

“This,” snarled Sarya Dlardrageth, “is an abomination.” She paced fretfully, her eyes aglow with hate. Sarya’s face was heartbreakingly beautiful, her supple figure the very image of desire, but in her anger—and Sarya was indeed angered—her demonic heritage was inescapable. Ruby skin and great black wings overwhelmed her noble elf’s features, and her slender serpentine tail coiled and uncoiled with agitation. “Tell me, Mardeiym, why haven’t you destroyed it yet?”

Mardeiym Reithel was a lord of the fey’ri, and Sarya’s most trusted general Unlike many of Sarya’s minions, he knew her well enough to sense that her anger was not directed at him, and he did not quail before her rage.

“Strong old magic guards it, my queen. I would not presume to destroy something of such antiquity without consulting you first.”

“Antiquity?” Sarya snorted. “I am four times as old as this shameful stone. Don’t speak to me of its antiquity!”

The daemonfey queen stood before the old monument the humans called simply the Standing Stone. It stood thirty miles south of Myth Drannor, at the spot where the road leading south to Sembia met the Moonsea Ride. Twenty feet tall, the gray obelisk was covered with old runes and hidden Elvish script that proudly—proudly! Sarya marveled-described how the great elven realm of Cormanthyr had given over the governance of its unforested lands to dirt-grubbing human squatters.

The flyspeck lands known as the Dales dated back to that day, growing up in and among the vales of the mighty forest … and the coronals of Myth Drannor had given the humans their blessing. Of course, time had demonstrated the folly of that decision. The coronals of Myth Drannor were dead, and their kingdom was no more. But Sarya could see clearly that this shameful monument in front of her marked the day that the elves’ decline in Cormanthor had begun.

“Dlardrageth corona’s would never have descended to such degrading pacts with humans,” she spat. With a flick of her wings, she turned her back on the Standing Stone and confronted her chief general. “You have now consulted me. Have it pulled down and broken into rubble. Use whatever power is necessary to overcome its wards. I never want to see this … emblem of weakness again.”

“It shall be as you say, my queen.” Mardeiym bowed his horned head in acknowledgment. He paused, and added, “The drow emissary still awaits.”

“I absolutely will not receive him standing in front of that,” she said, flicking her tail at the Standing Stone. “He is at the ruined keep?”

“He is, my lady,” Mardeiym affirmed.