Authors: Richard Baker
eighty high mages today. Evermeet is weaker than it ever has been.”
Seiveril studied her.
“I presume that you will soon call the council together
to relay your findings about the Gatekeeper’s Crystal,” he said finally. “So why did you send for me, my lady?”
“Because I think you are right, Seiveril, but I may not be able to act on our common conclusions,” Amlaruil replied. “Evermeet cannot exist in isolation from the rest of Toril, but powerful voices will be raised in opposition to anything we do to act on this belief. If I ignore them, I court disaster. I want you to know that even if I must
remain silent in the debate to come, I do not disagree with you.”
“What is it that you see coming?” Seiveril asked.
“The crystal was taken from an elven tower, by creatures who were once elves,” Amlaruil replied. “I do not know what evil purpose the Dlardrageths have in mind, but I am certain that it will fall to us to oppose it.”
*****
Fires danced and guttered amid the ruins of Myth Glaurach. The snow-covered buildings echoed with the sounds of ringing hammers and hissing steam. More than two thousand fey’ri soldiers, the legion imprisoned for five thousand years in the Nameless Dungeon, camped amid the ivy-grown stones of the long-fallen Eaerlanni city. Armed with powerful magic, fey’ri sorcerers worked furiously to repair the city’s ancient ramparts and prepare deadly spell traps against any possible attacker. Other demonblooded elves were busily engaged in refitting the prized arms and weapons of the ancient Vyshaanti-another of Nar Kerymhoarth’s buried secrets-for the fey’ri army. Hundreds of fey’ri scoured the lands nearby, foraging for food and searching diligently for signs of enemy spies.
Sarya Dlardrageth was pleased. She stood amid the broken rubble of the fallen grand mage’s throne room, gazing out into the bitterly cold night. She and her followers were not much troubled by winter weather, and despite the freezing temperature she wore only a light dress embroidered with the dracophoenix emblem of her House. Before her eyes lay the strongest army for more than five hundred miles, a winged legion whose every soldier commanded magical powers, and none of her enemies even suspected its existence.
“Siluvanede lives again,” she said into the night, her breath steaming. “We shall reclaim the lands and cities we once ruled, and the children of our onetime enemies will grovel at our feet. Time itself has proven to be our decisive weapon. We still exist, while the proud kingdoms of Sharrvan, Eaerlann, and Illefarn are no more.”
She turned away from the firelit night. Behind her waited her son Xhalph, along with a dozen of her chosen fey’ri. Only she and Xhalph remained of House
Dlardrageth, but the proud sun elf lords and ladies in the throne room each led a House of fey’ri sworn to serve her. Cruel and arrogant as they were, they attended her every word, obedient to her will. House Dlardrageth had forged chains of fear and loyalty to ensnare the fey’ri Houses long ago, and the fey’ri nobles were zealous servants indeed. Their souls depended on it.
“Command us, my lady,” said Jasrya Ilviiri. She was a tall, beautiful fey’ri whose skin glittered in diamond-shaped scales, evidence of her marilith heritage.
“Oh, I shall,” Sarya answered. She moved over to a table on which lay a large parchment map taken from a merchant near Everlund a few tendays before. The fey’ri gathered close to follow her. “Since I and my sons were freed five years ago, I have studied this new world tirelessly. This is the shape of things in the North today.
“In our time, this part of the world harbored three elven realms: Eaerlann, Sharrven, and Siluvanede. All these are gone. Siluvanede, our home, was conquered by Eaerlann after our defeat and came to nothing. Sharrven perished soon after, but Eaerlann persisted until quite recently, finally falling only five hundred years ago. No strong realms have risen in the place of the kingdoms we knew, and the High Forest is almost empty. A few thousand mongrel wood elves roam the forest, living in simple bands or wretched little villages scattered here and there, but they answer to no lord or ruler.” Sarya looked up from the map, baring her small pointed fangs. “They are the heirs of Eaerlann. Since time has denied us the opportunity to exact our vengeance from the Eaerlanni, the wood elves will be made to answer instead for the wrongs we have suffered.”
“We will make good sport of their deaths,” Xhalph promised, his four muscular arms crossed before his huge chest. “I have already tasted their blood, and I thirst for more.”
Sarya smiled and continued, “Beyond the High Forest and the valley of the Delimbiyr lie more dangerous foes. South and east of us the city of Evereska still stands, home to thousands of sun elves and no small number of cursed moon elves. Evereska’s sun elves will be my subjects. The moon elves shall serve us or die. No other elven realms stand within a thousand miles of us.”
“Evereska was a strong city in our time, Lady Sarya,” said Lord Breden Yesve. “Its walls were high, and its army strong. And it was guarded by a powerful mythal.”
“It was still a strong city when I was freed five years ago,” Sarya replied. “But here we have another stroke of good fortune. Two years ago Evereska was attacked by magic-wielding monsters called phaerimm. The city was virtually laid waste, its army decimated, its mythal desperately weakened. It is my belief that Evereska now lies within our grasp.”
The fey’ri grinned in response, his black fangs gleaming.
“Evereska’s army played no small part in our final defeat,” he said. “I look forward to settling that score.”
“You will,” Sarya promised. “But I am not quite finished yet. To our north, in the vale of the Rauvin, lies a young, weak confederation of dwarf and human cities known as Luruar, or the Silver Marches. The chief city of the league is the city of Silverymoon. It is a city of temples and schools of magic, protected by strong wards. Many of the People live there, as well.”
“With the humans?” one of her fey’ri asked. “Have they no sense of dignity?”
Sarya frowned. “Understand this: the world has changed while we slumbered. In our day the humans were crude barbarians who sometimes aped our cities and our speech. Humans are not the savages they once were. Their squalid cities and ramshackle empires cover the land like an infestation of locusts.” Her face twisted into a snarl. “They have stolen our ancient lands, driven off our folk, desecrated our sacred places, destroyed the great forests. Of all the wrongs we have suffered at the hands of the Eaerlanni and their allies, this may be the greatest: In our absence they permitted the shining cities and high kingdoms of the People to fall beneath the stinking tide of humankind. Elven Faerun has been dying for centuries, and they have done nothing to save it.”
“If humans have become so numerous, and the
Tel’Quessir so rare, are they not our most dangerous enemy?” asked Breden Yesve.
“In time they will be,” Sarya replied. “But, as it turns out, no human realms now stand between the High Moor and the Graypeak Mountains. Other than the league of the Silver Marches, there are no human settlements larger than a small town for many hundreds of miles. We will have little interference from human kingdoms at first. By the time they think to intervene, we will have strengthened our position to the point where we can dictate terms to our new neighbors, or destroy them if they prove unmanageable.”
Lord Yesve nodded, and returned his attention to the map.
“Good. Now attend, all of you. We are surrounded by three enemies: the wood elves of the High Forest, Evereska, and the human cities of the Silver Marches. I suspect they will object to my creation of a new Siluvanede in the lands they mistakenly regard as theirs. And rather than
argue with them about the matter, I mean to retake what is rightfully ours. This is how it shall be done.
“Jasrya, you are to lead the Ilviiri against the High Forest. The Aelorothi and Dhaorothi are also under your command. Your mission is to wipe the wood elf realm from the face of the forest. Destroy their villages, slay their warriors, enslave the young and the weak. Strike quickly, and without mercy. The wood elves are scattered throughout the forest, so keep your warband together, and give them no chance to gather a force large enough to threaten you. I will send Xhalph with you to assist you in your
work. These are the descendants of our ancient enemies. Visit on them the vengeance they have earned.”
“Thank you, Mother,” the daemonfey swordsman growled.
“Lord Mardeiym, you are to take House Reithel; with Floshin, Ulvaerren, Ursequarra, and Almyrrtel; and march on Evereska. I will join you when I am able. It is your task to take the city by whatever means are necessary. You have nearly fifteen hundred fey’ri warriors under your command since I expect you to have the harder fight. I will also dispatch with you a strong force of our demonic allies.
“Lord Breden, you are to lead House Yesve to the eastern end of the Rauvin Vale and keep Silverymoon at bay. I will also give House Ealoeth to you. Your force is the weakest of our three armies, so I do not want you to attack unless you find the humans weaker than I thought. You are simply a screening force to make sure that Silverymoon does not interfere with our capture of Evereska or the scouring of the wood elves from the High Forest.”
“As you command, my lady,” Breden said with a bow.
“I have laid the groundwork for alliances with orcs, ogres, and such rabble that dwell in the nearer reaches of the Nether Mountains,” Sarya continued. “Unfortunately, the phaerimm drove many of these creatures to their deaths against Evereska only a couple of years ago, so the tribes of the mountains are not as strong as I might have hoped. Do not trust these stupid creatures with anything important. Use them as skirmishers and raiders, or, if a chance presents itself, drive them into battle before your fey’ri in order to die in place of our own soldiers. We are strong, but our numbers are not inexhaustible, and we don’t want a fey’ri to die when an orc will do.
“When Evereska falls, we will turn Reithel’s army back to the north and repel any assault mustering in Silverymoonor invade that city and raze it, if it lies within our power.”
“Do we have sufficient strength to contemplate fighting three foes at once?” Mardeiym Reithel asked. He was a crafty old fighter, veteran of many fiercely fought campaigns in the Seven Citadels’ War, and a fervent devotee of the dark powers the daemonfey worshiped.
“If we strike only at one of these enemies, the other two will come to their aid anyway,” Sarya replied. “I am confident that we can triumph over the wood elves and Evereska quickly. Once we have won our battles in those places, I believe that the humans of Silverymoon will see little reason to continue fighting.” She studied the rest of the fey’ri, noting the glowing eyes, the feral grins. After five thousand years of magical slumber, her legions were eager to fight for her again. “Go back to your Houses and ready your warriors to fly. I mean to march at once.”
1 Ches, the Year of Lightning Storms
Araevin decided to wait at Daggerford for two days, on the chance that Theleda or even Darthen might turn up, or at least send word. In the early hours, while the humans slept, he and Ilsevele braved the bitter weather to ride or walk the countryside around the settlement. The afternoons and evenings they spent in the common room of the Dragonback, trading tales with Grayth or digesting news of distant lands from the caravan masters and traders who passed through the town.
Late in the evening of the second night, as the Dragonback’s evening crowd was beginning to disperse, Araevin and his companions looked over a map of the Sword Coast over steaming goblets of mulled wine. He intended to set out on his quest soon, and he was taking the opportunity to study the roads leading south. He could feel the second telkiira in that direction, tugging at the back of his mind like something he had forgotten.
“Which one of you is Araevin Teshurr?”
Araevin and the others looked up, and found a young woman standing at the end of their table. She was a strikingly unusual person, her skin as pale as snow, almost a frosty blue in places. Her eyes were large and violet, and her hair was silver-white and long, streaming softly from her head as if she stood in a gentle breezethough the smoke simply hung in the rafters of the tavern without so much as a hint of motion. Tall and graceful, she wore high leather boots, black breeches, and a soft quilted doublet over a shirt of white silk.
“Well?” she asked.
“I am Araevin Teshurr,” Araevin replied. “And you are?”
“I am Maresa Rost. Theleda Rost was my mother.” Without awaiting an invitation, the pale woman dropped herself into a seat beside Ilsevele, and fixed her startling purple eyes on the others in the company. “You must be Grayth Holmfast. I don’t know who you are, or you,” she said, looking at Ilsevele and Brant in turn.
“Theleda’s daughter?” Araevin could not keep the surprise from his voice.
Theleda had a daughter? he thought.
Theleda had been the first to leave the company, a couple of years before their last travels, so there might be as much as twenty years during which she could have had a child.
“Yes, we went over that already,” Maresa said. She poured herself a large helping of their wine. “My mother told me a few stories about her old adventures. You were two of the Company of the White Star, weren’t you?”
Araevin studied the young woman closely. She had Theleda’s pointed chin and heart-shaped face, but her coloration was so odd . .
“Excuse my surprise,” Araevin said, “but Theleda is human, and you areI hope you will forgive me, I am not sure what kindred you belong to. I do not think I have ever seen someone like you.”
The young woman snorted softly and replied, “Well, there are not many like me. I am a genasi. Theleda was human, of course. My father was a being of the elemental planes. The plane of elemental air, or so I understand, which is why I look as I do. It was an unusual romance, I suppose, and I understand it did not last long.”
Araevin shook his head. Who would have thought? Then something Maresa had said resurfaced.