“I hope I get the chance to meet them someday,” Araevin said, though his heart wasn’t in it.
He had always felt a little odd around human children. A long time ago, when he’d been only a hundred or so, he’d struck up quite a friendship with a little girl named Senda, the daughter of a human merchant he dealt with in his travels. She’d lived to seventy years of age … and she’d been dead already for longer than she’d lived. Yet still he remembered a tiny slip of a girl with long curls of golden hair and eyes that danced with mischief when she laughed at his pointed ears. He might well live to see Grayth’s sons, and their sons and grandsons too, pass from the world. Araevin felt his eyes growing damp and quickly changed the topic.
“What of the others?”
“Darthen’s done well for himself. He’s the lord of a small hold near Scornubel, with a lovely wife and a whole tower-full of children. I spoke with him after receiving your message. He will not come, Araevin.” Grayth sighed and continued, “He said that his duties did not permit him to respond, but that you could come to him for anything you needed, and he would do his best. He also told me to tell you to make sure to visit him, if you’ll be staying in Faerûn for any time.”
“I hope to do that,” Araevin replied, concealing his disappointment. The Company of the White Star had parted with an agreement to come together if called, but none of them were sworn to it. If he needed Darthen badly enough, he might try to change his old comrade’s mind, but it sounded as if the human knight had responsibilities he could not easily lay aside. “He would have come if he could have, I suppose. What of Belmora?”
Grayth sighed again, then said, “Belmora is dead. She went back to her clan-hold in the North, and I understand that she died in battle against an orc warband.”
Araevin bowed his head. He’d always liked Belmora, even though she was irascible, stubborn, and every bit as abrasive as dwarves were supposed to be. The news didn’t surprise him, really. The redoubtable dwarf priestess had always spoken of returning to her mountain home to drive away the orc tribes.
“She was a stout companion,” he said. “Her heart was true and strong. What about Theleda?”
“I have not heard from her for ten years now, I guess.” The human shrugged and said, “She lived in Waterdeep for a time, living well off the treasure we garnered back in our day. She owned a tavern, and provisioned caravans and merchant ships on the side. I suspect that one of the guilds ran her out of town.”
“It doesn’t seem likely that she will show up, then.” Araevin leaned back against the wall and sighed. Out of the four companions he had parted with in that very inn eighteen years past, only one had answered his call. One dead, one missing, and one simply unable or unwilling to come.
I waited too long, he realized. Of course I thought nothing of leaving them behind me for twenty years, but humans don’t make light of such a span, do they? “Grayth,” Araevin said, “thank you for answering.” The Lathanderite waved his hand and replied, “I live in Waterdeep. It’s only a couple of days up the road, so it wasn’t any trouble to make the journey. Besides, I’ve been looking for an excuse to get out of the temple for some time, I think.”
The inn’s keeper, a heavyset dwarf with a rough set of white whiskers and a beet-red nose, brought them a large earthenware jug of wine and a set of clay cups.
“Your wine, High Mornmaster,” he said to Grayth. “I’ve just started a roast for you and your friends, so it will be a time, but I’ll have Nanda bring out some cheese and bread for you. Welcome to the Dragonback, sir and miss. It’s an honor to have the Fair Folk under my roof.”
“It’s a pleasure to find a good inn,” Araevin replied.
The dwarf bowed and withdrew.
Grayth filled the clay cups with wine from the jug and asked, “So, Araevin, what is it that led you to summon us again? What in Faerûn has caught your attention after eighteen years in Evermeet?”
“Nothing good, I’m afraid,” Araevin said. His eyes hardened, and his voice grew colder. “A few days ago, a band of demons attacked my Tower in Evermeet. I think they were looking for this.” He fished the telkiira out of his pouch and showed it to Grayth and Brant. “More stones like this are buried in an ancient vault of my people. This stone has provided me with a map of sorts leading to its sisters. But I don’t know why our enemies wanted this stone, or even who our enemies are, for that matter. If I find the rest of the set and unravel this riddle, I may learn more about our adversaries. We understand nothing about them now.”
“And you thought that the Company of the White Star might be able to help you find more of your magic gemstones,” Grayth observed.
“Well, yes,” Araevin said. “But … but I hadn’t realized how much time had gone by. Darthen has his steading to govern, and I think you have become a man with responsibilities, too.”
The High Mornmaster offered a wry smile and said, “Let me be the judge of my responsibilities, Araevin. I’ve spent too much time lately telling others what they need to go do. Some time away from the temple might be just the renewal that Lathander intends for me.”
“We would not want you to get into trouble with your superiors,” Ilsevele said.
“You think I’m too old for such nonsense, you mean,” Grayth said. He nodded at Araevin. “I seem to recall that I’m a good two hundred years younger than him. I might not be as old as you think. Now, why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me what exactly has brought you back to Faerûn? I doubt you’ll have any luck with the others of the company, but I am with you, Araevin.”
Despite the gray skies and winter chill, the gardens of the royal palace in Leuthilspar were green and lush. The gardens of Moonflower Palace were said to be blessed by the Seldarine, and Seiveril could well believe it. He had never asked Corellon Larethian the truth of the tale, but some myths did not need to be examined, did they? He chose to simply admire the perfection of the palace grounds without permitting himself to wonder how it was done, and followed the palace chamberlain through the green maze.
The chamberlain led him to an ivy-covered arbor beside a still, dark pool.
“Your majesty?” the young elf called softly. “Lord Seiveril Miritar is here.”
Queen Amlaruil stood by a stone balustrade at the far end of the arbor, gazing absently into the water. Her long, dark hair was bound in a simple braid, and she wore a plain but elegant dress of green felt not much different than any elf lass might have worn to visit a friend for an afternoon. For a moment she seemed just a pensive young girl in a garden, no more than twenty or thirty, but when she glanced up, Seiveril felt the full weight of the starry wisdom in her dark eyes.
“Thank you, Dremel. You may go,” the queen said.
The chamberlain bowed and withdrew. Seiveril murmured a word of thanks as well, and crossed the arbor to bow deeply a short distance from the queen.
“You sent for me, my lady?”
“Oh, stand up straight, Seiveril. You’ve known me far too long to genuflect like that.”
“As you wish,” the nobleman said. He joined Amlaruil at the rail and studied the setting. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in this corner of the garden.”
“I come here often,” the queen said. “The garden has a way of guiding my thoughts, suggesting answers to questions I haven’t asked yet. I feel Zaor’s hand here.”
Seiveril nodded. He could, as well. King Zaor Moonflower, Amlaruil’s husband, had ruled Evermeet well for hundreds of years. But he had died at the hands of a sun elf assassin more than forty years before, leaving Amlaruil to govern alone. She had ruled well and wisely, too. In fact, Evermeet might have fallen to Kymil Nimesin’s treachery and invasion three years past, if not for Amlaruil’s firm leadership and personal courage. But the tale of Zaor and Amlaruil’s centuries-spanning love and devotion to each other was known to all Evermeet.
“I have seen the Gatekeeper’s Crystal, Seiveril,” she said. “Not clearly, mind you. Someone is working hard to deflect
our divinations. As you feared, our enemies assembled the three shards of the device and used it to undo a powerful, ancient ward.”
“Where?” Seiveril asked.
“I do not know the place. It was a rocky tor surrounded by a great woodland … I saw that much. I think it was an old stronghold of some kind, broken open by the power of the device.”
“That seems ominous, to say the least.” Seiveril frowned. “We should send word to Evereska and the other realms in Faerûn, warning them. Maybe your vision will mean something to them.”
“There is this: My divinations also revealed that the crystal has again been scattered.”
“Thank the Seldarine for that. Evermeet is safe from that threat, at least.”
“Perhaps,” Amlaruil said, “but who knows where our enemy’s road now leads? I will not consider Evermeet safe until we have at least one of those shards back in our hands, and I know exactly who wielded the device and where.”
“I can answer that question, at least in part,” said Seiveril. “I have communed with the Seldarine, and I have a name for our foes: the Dlardrageths, the daemonfey. Araevin’s report of the raid on Tower Reilloch reminded me of the old stories about the Dlardrageth palace in Myth Drannor. It seems that my suspicions were well founded.”
“Who are they?” Amlaruil asked.
“A House of sun elves who were influential in ancient Arcorar. They trafficked with demons for the power to seize control of that realm, but were found out. The Coronal of Arcorar destroyed their House, but some escaped to ancient Siluvanede, where they lured a number of lesser Houses into evil, as well.” Seiveril spread his hands. “Supposedly they were dealt with in the Seven Citadels’ War. In any event, I can find no more mention of them in any records since that time.”
“Siluvanede fell five thousand years ago,” the queen observed. “Do you believe anything could vanish so completely for so long?”
“Evidently they did. I cannot explain it. Perhaps even the Seldarine do not know their tale. But I am certain that we are dealing with the Dlardrageths, or their heirs.”
Amlaruil nodded and said, “Very well, then. We will find out where they are hiding, we will recover what they have stolen, and we will root out this ancient evil.”
Seiveril sighed and looked up from the still waters of the pool to meet Amlaruil’s gaze directly. Even though he was a full four centuries in age, and a high priest of Corellon Larethian, he did not find it easy to do.
“Even that will not be sufficient to secure Evermeet’s safety, Amlaruil,” he said. “This time it was the Gatekeeper’s Crystal. Three years ago, it was the treachery of Kymil Nimesin. In a year, or two, or ten, it will be something else. We withdrew all our strength from Cormanthor in the Retreat and virtually abandoned Faerûn to whatever fate the other speaking peoples forge for themselves, and still evil follows us here. Whatever refuge we have found here is little more than a temporary reprieve from the workings of the world beyond.”
“I know that, Seiveril,” Amlaruil said wearily. “I cannot walk in this garden without remembering the day Zaor died here. But what would you have me do? Even if I could undo the Retreat and open Evermeet’s shores to the world outside, there are those on the council who would rise in open rebellion if I were to make the attempt.”
“Durothil and Veldann. And their allies.”
“You named them, not I,” said Amlaruil. “Nor will I name them, unless I must. Sun elves comprise half of Evermeet’s people, and almost a third of the sun elf Houses are in Durothil’s camp. I must take great care when I act against the wishes of the powerful Houses on the council.”
The queen sighed and turned away from the pool, moving over to take a seat on a nearby bench of marble.
“In all fairness,” she said, “I must concede that the isolationists possess a persuasive argument. Less than five years ago, we boasted more than two hundred high mages in Evermeet. But Kymil Nimesin’s attack on the Towers of the Sun and Moon, and our expedition to aid Evereska against the phaerimm two years ago, cost us dearly in this irreplaceable resource. We have fewer than 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 wretch
ed 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.”
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