Seiveril heard an audible groan from the high admiral at his right hand. Other councilors winced, or drew in their breath with a soft hiss, or simply looked down at the table. Amlaruil, who had already heard the tale from him, simply waited impassively.
“As far as I can tell, the attackers came for the specific purpose of stealing the artifact,” Seiveril went on. “Since they accomplished that, it is doubtful they will return, but I have dispatched warriors to reinforce the surviving mages of Reilloch Domayr just in case. I suggest that we send word to all other Towers to look to their own defenses.”
“We would have done better to look to our defenses before we were attacked,” Selsharra Durothil growled. Her clan was arguably the noblest and most powerful family of sun elves on the island. It was no secret that some among the Durothils, and the many sun elf Houses allied with them, resented the fact that a moon elf dynasty had been appointed to rule over Evermeet. Seiveril didn’t know if Selsharra privately hungered for Amlaruil’s throne or not, but for fifty years she had been the queen’s most strident critic on the council. “Did no one pay attention when Nimesin invaded three years ago? For that matter, how did demons teleport through Evermeet’s defenses? Haven’t our mages woven wards to prevent this very sort of thing?”
“It should not have been possible—” began Grand Mage Olithir, but Selsharra Durothil simply cut him off with a cold stare.
Despite his accomplishments as a high mage, Breithel Olithir was a novice in the workings of Evermeet’s council, and he knew it. He left his protest unfinished and fell silent.
Seiveril decided to help the grand mage save face.
“Those who fought the creatures at Tower Reilloch reported that the demonic sorcerers resembled winged sun elves, with scarlet skin and black, leathery wings,” he offered. “Supposedly, these creatures appeared first, then created a temporary gate that permitted the passage of the demons. Some of Reilloch’s mages speculated that the demon-sorcerers might have elf blood sufficient to pass unrecognized through Evermeet’s wards.”
The grand mage nodded slowly, a pained look on his face, and said, “Our wards can block the passage of most creatures of supernatural evil … but elves, or elf-kin of some kind, are not barred, regardless of their intentions. Kymil Nimesin demonstrated that three years ago.”
“Then we must redouble our efforts to strengthen Evermeet’s wards,” Ammisyll Veldann said. A proud sun elf matron, Ammisyll was one of the younger elves on the council, but renowned for her staunchly conservative views. Like Selsharra Durothil, she was an avowed antimonarchist who had spoken out on more than one occasion against the primacy of the throne. She was also the scion of a family of Cormanthyran expatriates, sun elves who had only recently abandoned Faerûn for the safety of Evermeet. “We did not call for the Retreat in order to leave Evermeet’s gates open to anyone who cared to follow us here and attack us in our haven. If we had prepared our defenses properly in the wake of Nimesin’s war, this insult might not have been allowed to happen.”
“We cannot defend ourselves by walling out the world and ignoring what happens beyond our shores,” Seiveril said. “We gave no provocation to the sea wolves of the Nelanther or to the drow of the Underdark, but they joined Kymil Nimesin’s invasion anyway.”
“Why should our wards permit any gate to function without the approval of the council?” Ammisyll retorted. “Or allow the entry of any evil creature, be they demon, drow, or elf? We have failed in our vigil, Lord Seiveril. We did not take every step we might have to defend this island against a repeat of Nimesin’s invasion. Or perhaps you make light of the threat Evermeet faces from the barbaric human kingdoms of Faerûn?”
“My wife died in the Tower of the Sun, Lady Ammisyll,” Seiveril said. “And it does not escape my recollection that your cousin Tarthas was one of the spellsingers who helped Nimesin destroy it. I know exactly what Nimesin’s war cost Evermeet.”
Ammisyll Veldann flushed. She opened her mouth to respond to Seiveril, but Amlaruil rapped her golden scepter twice on the glassteel table, sending a sharp ring through the chamber.
“You are wandering away from the matter at hand, Lady Ammisyll,” the queen said clearly. “The purpose of this session is to inform the council of the theft of the Gatekeeper’s Crystal, and to determine what actions are necessary in response.”
Ammisyll Veldann glared at Seiveril, but held her tongue.
The council fell silent, until High Admiral Emardin shifted in his seat and said, “What is the purpose of the artifact? What does it do?”
“I am not personally familiar with the device,” Seiveril admitted. “However, I am told that it is designed to negate magical fields and constructs, such as the defensive wards of a mythal.”
“That is essentially correct,” Grand Mage Breithel observed. “I spoke with Philaerin about the crystal when it was brought to Reilloch. It has other powers, too. It can smother certain types of magic in very large areas, for example. But its principal and most dangerous power is the ability to disjoin and collapse existing enchantments. The crystal’s theft is dire news indeed, Lord Seiveril. In the wrong hands, it could work terrible harm. In fact, it may already have done so.”
Seiveril looked to the grand mage and asked, “You have learned something?”
“Nothing specific. But two days ago I detected a perturbation in the Weave, as if a very powerful spell had been cast. Several other mages remarked on the incident.”
“I sensed it, too,” Amlaruil said quietly. The queen was an accomplished mage in her own right, the equal of any of Evermeet’s high mages. “The Gatekeeper’s Crystal might be responsible for the disturbance we felt, but I could not be certain of that.”
“The purpose of the crystal is to destroy wards?” asked Meraera Silden. A moon elf, the elected speaker of the city of Leuthilspar, Meraera was a moderate voice on the council, though she was not a monarchist. “As we just discussed a few moments ago, Evermeet is protected by extensive magical wards. Clearly, we must assume that someone is preparing a new attack against our island. This time, they mean to destroy our protective spells entirely.”
“I agree,” said Keryth Blackhelm. Coarse and direct, the moon elf soldier commanded Evermeet’s defenses. “We live in a castle with gates made of oil-soaked wood, and someone has just stolen a match. I propose we muster immediately and make ready to repel an attack. And if we haven’t done so already, we must locate the stolen crystal and get it back.”
“While I agree that we should make all possible efforts to recover the crystal,” said Zaltarish, the old scribe, “we don’t know for certain that we are the target of this attack. There are other wards and mythals in the world besides our own. Evereska and Silverymoon come to mind. What happened at Tower Reilloch might have been a simple theft. Perhaps our foes intend to use the device somewhere else.”
“Evereska is virtually in ruins, and Silverymoon is a collection of squalid human hovels,” Selsharra Durothil snapped. “Why in the world would we think this attack to be aimed at someone other than us? Where else do wards worth breaching exist? Don’t waste our time with wishful thinking, Zaltarish.”
“Is it wishful thinking? The invaders of Tower Reilloch have already demonstrated their ability to slip through Evermeet’s magical wards,” the old sage replied, unperturbed. “Why would they steal a device designed to bring down our defenses, when they seem to be able to master our wards already?”
The chamber fell silent. Selsharra Durothil composed herself gracefully, and voiced her displeasure at the scribe’s logic only with a single icy glance. Seiveril kept his face impassive as well, though he allowed himself a wry smile on the inside. Zaltarish was mild and soft-spoken, and some of Evermeet’s high lords and ladies were in the habit of considering him ineffectual because he rarely asserted himself. It pleased him to see the ancient scribe stand the great Lady Durothil on her head.
“Lord Blackhelm spoke of recovering the crystal,” Jerreda Starcloak said to Seiveri
l. “Have you begun any efforts to do so?”
Seiveril nodded and replied, “As soon as I was informed of the theft, I prayed to Corellon Larethian for spells to divine the crystal’s location and the identity of our foe. Unfortunately, I was unable to ascertain either. It seems our adversary anticipated that we would attempt to scry out his secrets, and made sure of his own magical defenses.”
The grand mage said, “I will begin divinations of my own at once. Perhaps our foe will make a mistake and let us have a look at him.”
“In the meantime,” Seiveril said, “I have suggested to the queen that we should send word to our spies in Faerûn to drop all other matters and search for some sign of our foe. For that matter, we should dispatch more agents to Faerûn at once. If our divinations prove fruitless, then we will have to find our enemies with simple persistence. The sooner we begin, the better.”
“Sending our wizards and knights to blunder about Faerûn chasing shadows seems pointless,” said Ammisyll Veldann. She looked over at Amlaruil. “I refuse to compound negligence with folly. In fact, I find that I am not at all confident that this matter should be left in the hands of the throne’s agents, seeing as the council has just learned how easily our defenses were defeated—again.”
“What are you implying?” Seiveril demanded.
“I imply nothing,” Lady Veldann said. “I will observe, however, that since King Zaor’s ascension the throne has assumed increasing power over Evermeet’s affairs and defenses, but our walls seem to be growing more and more porous. As the council has been relieved of the responsibility of overseeing our magical wards and physical defenses for some time, it is clear where the responsibility for these failures now lies. Perhaps it would be wisest if the council assumed direct oversight of the investigation of this entire affair and the organization of an appropriate response.”
Corellon, grant me patience, Seiveril fumed.
For decades he had listened to Ammisyll Veldann begrudge the queen’s every effort to unite Evermeet’s defenders behind the throne, and she had the temerity to wonder why Evermeet was not invulnerable to attack? He started to speak, but he sensed a small wave of the queen’s hand. He shut his mouth and turned to look at Amlaruil.
“I accept responsibility for the losses at Tower Reilloch,” Queen Amlaruil said. Her eyes flashed, but she did not lose her composure. “The preservation of our realm’s People and treasures is the single highest privilege and responsibility of the throne. When the lives of our elves are lost, then I have failed in my duty, and I deserve censure. But know this: I intend to exercise the full power and authority at my disposal to recover the crystal and oppose the purposes of our enemies, wherever they may be found.
“I swear by the Seldarine that this crime shall not go unpunished.”
CHAPTER 5
29 Alturiak, the Year of Lightning Storms
The town of Daggerford was a sleepy little stopover on the Trade Way near the mouth of the Delimbiyr River. It was a human town, with only a scattering of other kindred, and though it was protected by a wall and a sturdy keep, its streets were unpaved and its buildings had a ramshackle, weather-beaten look to them. Araevin was amazed at how much the soporific little town had changed since last he walked its streets. In some ways it felt much as it always had. A strong wet wind blew in from the Sea of Swords. Freezing slush lined the streets. Rustic, heavy-handed craftsmanship was evident in the iron-hasped doors and thick-beamed buildings. Acrid smoke filled the air from open-air smithies, fuming smokehouses, and seemingly every home and store. But half the buildings he remembered had vanished, replaced by new ones.
“Incredible,” he murmured. “I was just here only a few years ago… and it seems they’ve knocked down the whole town and rebuilt it since then.”
Ilsevele stayed close to his side, warily eying the passersby in the wide, muddy street. She wrinkled her nose at the heavy smoke in the air.
“I feel no Tel’Quessir nearby,” she said. “How strange to be in a town of this size and sense no one else.”
“They are here. Humans do not experience community the way we do. Each is a lonely isle in the sea, out of sight of his fellows.”
“Then why do they dwell in such close quarters?” Ilsevele muttered. Her eyes watered from the smoke of a nearby smithy. “And do they each have to have their own fire?”
“Ah, here we are,” Araevin said.
The Dragonback Inn was a large, rambling building with chest-high walls of fieldstone from which rose sturdy wooden walls with thick timbers framing the structure. Dark, small-paned windows of green leaded glass looked out over the broad ford of the Deliymber below, and a creaking sign of grayed wood hung over the strong door.
Araevin noticed Ilsevele’s dubious expression, and said, “It’s not so bad, really. Come on, let’s go in.”
They pulled open the heavy door and entered the building, finding themselves in a cozy, warm common room that Araevin remembered fondly. There, at least, not much had changed. A fierce-looking dragon skull hung over the large fireplace, and battered old shields and banners draped the walls. A dozen plain wooden trestle tables were jammed into the room. It was the middle of the afternoon, so most were empty, but Araevin knew they’d be full by sundown, and likely stay that way until midnight.
“Araevin!” a deep, gravelly voice called across the room.
Araevin turned to see a tall, square-shouldered human with a deeply weathered face, a gray goatee, and a close-cropped fringe of iron-gray hair rising to hail him, dressed in a simple cassock of red. He did not recognize the fellow, and opened his mouth to request an introduction—then he realized with a shock that it was Grayth Holmfast.
The human’s dark hair had gone silver-gray and retreated sharply above his brow, and his powerful, athletic build had grown lean and spare. The Lathanderite priest caught him up in a powerful embrace before Araevin recovered from his astonishment, and thumped his back with blows that might have staggered the elf mage if he hadn’t been held up.
“Araevin Teshurr, as I live and breathe! It’s been damned near twenty years, old friend. Where have you been keeping yourself?”
Twenty years? Araevin thought, confused. Surely it had not been that long … but when he thought on it, he’d last traveled in Faerûn in the Year of the Worm, 1356 by Dalereckoning, so that would make it eighteen years.
“Evermeet,” he answered. “I’ve continued my studies at home since I left.” He rallied and returned Grayth’s embrace, pounding the cleric on his back. “It’s good to see you, Grayth!”
The human cleric stepped back and studied Araevin from head to toe.
“Amazing,” he said. “Time touches you so lightly. You have not changed a bit, my friend.”
Araevin replied, “I forget how different it is with us.”
Grayth barked laughter and said, “That’s one way to say that the years have been hard on me!” He gestured at his receding hairline. “The hair began retreating ten years ago. Oddly enough, it’s started to sprout on my back instead. So, who’s your friend?”
A wave of distress crossed Ilsevele’s face at the last remark, but she bravely set it aside and thrust out her hand in the human fashion. Her Common was a little awkward, and her voice lilted musically.
“I am Ilsevele Miritar, daughter of Lord Seiveril Miritar. I am Araevin’s betrothed. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Grayth, please! The pleasure is mine, fair lady. And welcome to Faerûn. Unless I miss my guess, you haven’t spent much time away from Evermeet.”
Ilsevele shot a glance at Araevin, her surprise showing, and said, “Is it that obvious?”
“No, it’s not,” Araevin replied with a smile. “Grayth will never admit it, but he sees more in a glance than most people, human or elf, notice in an hour. Don’t play cards with him.”
“If you’ll join us, I’ll have some food and wine sent over, and we can trade tales of old adventures,” Grayth said. “I noticed a number of mice in the stable
s, if your little falcon’s feeling hungry.”
“Whyllwyst died eight years ago,” Araevin said. “I have no familiar now.”
Grayth looked up and said with a grimace, “I know that’s hard on a wizard, Araevin. I’m sorry. Come, we’ll speak of lighter things.”
The cleric motioned the two sun elves to a sturdy wooden table and bench, and sat down opposite them.
Another man was waiting for them, a strapping young fellow with sandy-blond hair and wide blue eyes. He was dressed like Grayth in the cassock of a priest of Lathander, but his robes were orange and yellow, and the emblem on his tunic was a simple half-disc of white.
“This is Brant Rethalshield,” Grayth said, “an aspirant to the Order of the Aster, the knights templar of the Morninglord’s faith. He is my squire. Brant, this is Araevin Teshurr and Lady Ilsevele Miritar.”
Araevin took the young man’s hand, noticing the well-worn calluses of a swordsman.
“A pleasure to meet you, Brant,” he said.
The young fellow returned his handclasp and said, “And you, sir. The High Mornmaster has told me many stories of his adventures in your company.”
“So you’ve simply been studying your spellbooks back on Evermeet all this time?” Grayth asked.
“I’ve found a few things to busy myself with, but I haven’t been back to Faerûn since the Year of the Worm.” Araevin studied Grayth’s accoutrements and added, “I see you have risen in Lathander’s church in the last eighteen years. What of you? How are you faring? Have you heard from others of the company?”
“I am well enough, as you can see. I traveled a few more years after we parted. In fact, I rode all the way to Thesk in King Azoun’s crusade against the Tuigan Horde, but my superiors in the order kept asking me to take on more and more responsibility. So for some time now I have devoted myself to serving in the Morninglord’s temples, as I have been called to do.” A brief shadow flickered across the human’s face. “I settled down and was even married for a time, but no longer. I have two fine sons, though—ten and seven. They live with their mother. I visit them whenever I can.”
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