Morgwais frowned and said, “I think you might have found these orcs and their bat-winged allies more difficult to ambush than you think. They have held to their course and kept on toward the village, despite our illusions, enchantments, and our scouts’ efforts to decoy them away. I suspect that they have some skilled wizards among them, someone who can dispel our defenses and divine a path to our village.”
Gaerradh glanced around at that and said, “If they are using magic to sniff us out, then maybe we shouldn’t be here at all!”
“Rheitheillaethor is no more or less significant than any other place in the forest,” the noblewoman replied, “but it’s as good a place as any to try our enemies’ strength. And it might not hurt to teach these new foes that searching out our homes and marching on them will not be as easy as they think.”
A soft owl’s cry came from the night beyond the village, answered by another.
“They’re here,” Gaerradh whispered.
Other elves nearby repeated the warning. Gaerradh crouched back down in her chosen spot and unlimbered her bow.
She heard the orcs before she saw them. The brutish creatures were holding their tongues, but their armor clinked and jingled softly, and their sandaled feet crunched and scuffled in the thin snow and leafy debris of the forest floor. She spied the leaders, a handful of scouts and skirmishers trotting warily before their fellows, crouching and stooping as they moved from cover to cover. Behind them came a ragged line of berserkers, the champions of the tribe—powerful warriors who disdained armor, wearing little other than broad leather belts and dirty breeches, huge axes gripped in their hairy hands. After the berserkers came long, dark files of orc warriors creeping through the shadows. It was a large warband, bigger than any raiding party Gaerradh had ever seen before.
They know enough to be wary of the trees, she thought, watching the gleam of their yellow eyes as they peered into the dark branches of the weirwoods, shields held high by their heads. But where are the others, the demons with elves’ faces?
Almost directly below their tree, a pair of the scouts halted, looking up into the darkness. The rest of the orcs continued forward, but from below Gaerradh heard a wet snuffling sound.
They smell us, she realized.
She started to signal to Morgwais, but the Lady of the Wood simply said, “Now.”
Five dozen wood elf archers fired as one, sending arrow after arrow plunging down into the orc company below. Orcs screamed and bellowed, some roaring in rage, others gurgling out awful death cries as they spun or sagged into the snow. Gaerradh shifted her position and fired straight down the bole of her tree at the scouts below, taking the first one in the throat as he looked up at her, and the second high between the shoulders as he scrambled back looking for cover.
The first volleys were devastating, scything through the orc ranks with merciless efficiency. The elf archers above did not speak or shout, but bowstrings thrummed like harps and arrows hissed in the air like angry serpents. Orc after orc fell, plucking at arrows buried in chests and necks. Others quickly covered down beneath their shields, forming turtle-like knots of a dozen or more warriors crowding together to make their shields into an impenetrable wall. Even as she plied her bow with deadly skill, Gaerradh saw one of the orc shield-knots blown apart by the lightning spell of an elf mage hidden overhead. Thunder boomed in the village clearing.
“Beware the war priests!” Morgwais called to the elves in the redoubt.
Gaerradh caught the guttural sound of orc shamans chanting spells. She held her fire, searching quickly for the spellcasters. Few orcs ever studied wizardly magic, but priests devoted to the dark and savage gods of their race often accompanied the warbands. She spotted one fellow, a chanting war priest with the ceremonial eye patch worn by the servants of one-eyed Gruumsh. She aimed carefully and shot him through his remaining eye, cutting off his chant in mid-syllable.
Other chanting voices shrieked and fell off as priests fell wounded or dead. But enough of the clerics lived long enough to cast their spells together. Barking out the last words of the chant, the priests gestured and shouted.
Dense white fog filled the forest floor, rolling away from each shaman and covering the orcs below from the elves’ arrows. Gaerradh peered at the ground below, but all she could make out were roiling clouds of white mist, out of which rose the black boles of Rheitheillaethor’s weirwoods like pillars in a great hall. She glimpsed movement here and there, dark shapes flitting below, but nothing she could shoot at.
Morgwais joined her in leaning out carefully to study the fog below.
“Damn,” she whispered. “That was a good idea. These orcs are far too clever and determined for my comfort.”
“Do we have any spellcasters to dispel the mist?” Gaerradh asked.
“Yes. But they anticipated our attack from above. They’ll have a counter ready. Still, we should try. We need to see them to shoot them.”
Morgwais dropped back down to the main platform and started to give her commands.
Flickering orange light filled the forest as a dozen burning globes of fire appeared above the canopy and streaked down toward the elves’ fighting platforms with a rumbling crackle of magic. Gaerradh glanced up to see one of the great spinning orbs heading straight at her perch.
“Fireballs!” she screamed.
She threw herself down to the main platform only a heartbeat before the globe struck where she had been kneeling and detonated. The mighty weirwood trembled in the blast as a huge gout of scathing red fire blasted through the elven house, shattering light screens and snapping the smaller limbs. Gaerradh turned her face away from the blast and cowered beneath her cloak. Pain seared her exposed limbs, and the impact picked her up and threw her back down to the wooden deck.
Elf voices shrieked in pain around her. One of the sharpshooters with whom she’d shared the post toppled out of the tree, wrapped in flame like a living torch. He plunged into the mist below like a meteor. Fires burned in many of the hidden tree blinds.
They used the orcs to learn our positions, Gaerradh realized. They got above us and watched us fire at their allies, and when they spotted our blinds, they threw their spells. How many spellcasters are up there? A dozen? Maybe more?
The orcs below whooped in delight at the burning trees and elves’ screams. The weirwoods didn’t burn easily—they were guarded with protective spells, and were not naturally inclined to burn anyway—but shadowtops were a different story, and several of the towering giants were alight despite the winter weather and the damp.
“Get the spellcasters!” Morgwais cried to the elves nearby.
Her hair was singed, but she was otherwise fine, her spells sufficient to protect her against the fiery blasts. The noble wood elf recited a spell of her own and hurled a crackling sphere of blue light into the high branches overhead. The orb burst in a scintillating wave of lightning, illuminating the sinister, shadowed forms of winged warriors descending toward the village. A pair cried out and crumpled as Morgwais’s spell burned them out of the sky, but others eluded the energy wave or shielded themselves with spells of their own.
Gaerradh took aim on another darting form illuminated by the blue lightning and fired, but she missed her mark. The arrow buried itself in the elf-demon’s thigh instead of its breastbone. It spiraled wildly, but then regained sufficient control to drop down behind a tree and get out of her line of sight. She looked around for another target, and she heard a ragged roar of battle cries and oaths from below her.
The orc warriors scaled the trees of the village, hurling grapnels up into the branches and raising clumsy siege ladders against the trunks of the larger trees. The battle-mad berserkers swarmed up out of the mist, foaming at the mouth, red eyes rolling wildly as they roared their challenges. Quickly Gaerradh shifted her aim to pick three orcs off a ladder in a neighboring tree, though she could hear orcs scrabbling and cursing as they climbed her own.
“Sound the retreat!” Morgwais snapped. She star
ted to cast another spell, only to break it off abruptly and duck low to avoid a bolt of green acid hurled down by one of the winged sorcerers above. “We can’t fight off both assaults at once.”
One of the other elves seized a hunting horn at his belt and sounded three short blasts. He was killed an instant later by a heavy iron spear hurled up from the orc ranks below.
Morgwais didn’t wait on her warriors. She quickly worked a spell that covered the tree-hall with a spreading cloud of gloom, and she ran out across the well-hidden catwalks linking the tree houses together. Gaerradh followed her, groping in the darkness. She knew that other elves would be abandoning their platforms, likewise concealing their escape with clouds of mist or walls of gloom.
“What now?” she whispered to the lady as they slipped out of the village.
“We flee,” Morgwais replied. Her eyes gleamed with ire and determination. “We retreat, we skirmish, and we delay until we have the measure of these demonspawn. And we call for help.”
“Lords and ladies of Evermeet, the queen!”
The Dome of Stars rustled softly with movement as the council and the assembled observers stood up and fell silent. Seiveril rose from his seat and turned to face the doorway as Amlaruil swept into the Dome of Stars, Keryth Blackhelm a pace behind her. A sun elf lord wearing a tabard of emerald blue emblazoned with a star and sword emblem accompanied them. Seiveril did not recognize the fellow.
Amlaruil was dressed in a simple dress of green, her only concession to formality a plain silver fillet on her brow. In all the council meetings he had attended, Seiveril could not recall being summoned so hastily, or seeing Amlaruil appear in anything less than royal splendor. It struck him as an ominous sign.
“Please, be seated,” the queen said. She looked around the glassteel table. All the council was present except for Emardin Elsydar, the high admiral, who was currently at sea and could not be recalled in time for the emergency session. “I thank you all for coming so swiftly. I am afraid there is grave news from Faerûn.”
Seiveril frowned and studied his fellow councilors. Most wore expressions of puzzled concern that no doubt mirrored his own. Never in his memory had the council been called on only one hour’s notice. Elves were deliberate folk and did not make a practice of trying to meet untoward developments with thoughtless haste. He looked across the table at Lady Selsharra Durothil, who simply studied the queen with narrowed eyes, her expression cold. It didn’t matter what news Amlaruil had for the council. Lady Durothil was gathering herself for a confrontation, possibly for no other reason than the fact that Amlaruil had seen fit to summon her at short notice.
“An hour ago Lord Imesfor arrived in Leuthilspar, bearing a message from Lord Duirsar, the High Elder of Evereska,” Amlaruil said. She indicated the sun elf lord who had followed her into the Dome. “I will let him present it to you.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Imesfor replied. He stepped forward and faced the council. “I am Gervas Imesfor of Evereska. I have the honor of serving my people as one of our Hill Elders. Forgive me if I forego courtesy in order to quickly state my message: Evereska faces a new attack. An army of orcs, ogres, giants, and other foul creatures is marching south through the Delimbiyr Vale, heading for the Shaeradim. They are accompanied by a number of demons and other fiendish beings, including a mighty legion of creatures that seem like demon-tainted elves. We have also heard from our allies in the High Forest that another army has invaded the woodland seeking out the villages and havens of the wood elves. The wood elves have fought several skirmishes against the invaders already, and have asked us for as much help as we can spare. But with an even mightier army approaching our city, we fear that we do not have the strength to aid the High Forest while defending our own people. The war against the phaerimm two years ago claimed far too many of our warriors and mages. We know that Evermeet sacrificed greatly to assist us then, but we hope that you can once again lend us your strength and help us stand against the enemies of all the People.”
“You mentioned demon-tainted elves,” Seiveril said. He tightened his hands into fists under the table to combat the dread in his heart. “What do you mean by that? Can you describe them?”
“I have studied them with scrying magic, my lord,” Imesfor replied. “They have leathery wings, like those of a bat or dragon, and a reddish hue to their skin. I observed many wearing arms and armor of fine quality and elven workmanship. The wood elves who have engaged them described the creatures as skilled sorcerers and blademasters.” The Evereskan lord absorbed the council’s reaction then asked, “Do you know these creatures?”
“Yes,” said Seiveril. “You have described the Dlardrageths and their minions, the daemonfey.”
Lord Imesfor’s eyes widened and he murmured, “So the old tales are true.”
“Fifteen days ago a party of these demon-elves attacked a Tower on the northern coasts,” Seiveril continued. “They killed more than twenty of our people, including two high mages, and carried away a powerful weapon. We have been searching for some sign of them, but it seems as though they have no more need of secrecy.” He looked over to the queen and said, “I fear we bear some responsibility for this threat to Evereska and the High Forest, your highness. We cannot stand by and allow the crystal to be used against Evereska!”
“Did you not tell us that the crystal had been brought to Evermeet out of Faerûn only a couple of years ago?” Lady Ammisyll Veldann asked Seiveril. “The throne’s servants meddled in Faerûn by bringing that cursed device into Evermeet, and now we see the price we must pay for yesterday’s mistakes. I refuse to countenance any suggestion that we repair the damage caused by our unwise involvement in Faerûnian matters by involving ourselves even more!”
Lady Jerreda Starcloak, speaker for the island’s wood elves, glared at Lady Veldann. “How can you propose turning our backs on kinfolk in need? What would that make us?”
“Of course we would not turn our backs on the elves still dwelling in Faerûn,” Lady Veldann snapped. “Have we not always found a home for any who wish to Retreat? I would not turn away any Evereskan, or wood elf of the High Forest for that matter, who seeks safety here. That is Evermeet’s purpose, after all.”
“You speak lightly of asking us to abandon our homes,” Gervas Imesfor observed. “Evereska is almost as old as Evermeet itself. Only two years ago we spent thousands of lives to defend it against the phaerimm. It would shame the valiant dead of that war to flee this fight.”
Meraera Silden, the Speaker of Leuthilspar, stepped in.
“The point of whether or not we should aid Evereska and the High Forest may be moot,” she observed. “The first question is, can we help them? Do we have sufficient strength? If the answer to that question is no, then our debate is without purpose.”
“We ask only what you think you can spare,” Imesfor said. “Five hundred archers and fifty mages would help us greatly, and would not place Evermeet itself in jeopardy. But you may need to consider more if you hope to aid the folk of the High Forest, too.”
“We heard the exact same point raised two years ago, when we sent an expedition to Evereska’s aid against the phaerimm,” Grand Mage Breithel Olithir said. “Less than half of those we sent then came home, and none of the high mages. We cannot afford another such disaster in Faerûn.”
“Talk of what we can spare and what we can afford to lose is absolutely pointless,” Seiveril interjected. “If something is worth doing, then it is worth doing with all of our might! The defense of Evereska and the safeguarding of our kinfolk in the High Forest is not an act of charity on our part, but an act of self-preservation. The defense of Evermeet begins in the hills of Evereska and beneath the trees of old Eaerlann.”
“We who Retreated to Evermeet did so because the wide seas serve as a mighty rampart against exactly the sort of threat that now menaces Evereska,” Lady Veldann retorted. “If we had had the sense to leave matters in Faerûn alone, we would not have to consider this question.”
“Lady Veldann, it does not matter whether we abandon Faerûn or not, because Faerûn will not abandon us,” Seiveril replied. He stood and rested his hands on the cool glassteel of the table. “We learned three years ago that evil can and will follow us here, regardless of whether we ‘provoke’ it or not. For my part, I will take my chances with provoking those who would do us harm. They will hate and envy us no matter what we do, so it seems better to me to exert my strength against them in Faerûn than to wait until they come to Evermeet’s shores.”
The Dome of Stars fell quiet. Seiveril glared at Ammisyll Veldann, and she returned his anger with her own.
Lady Durothil turned to Amlaruil and said, “You have heard your council speak. Now what do you intend to do, Lady Moonflower?” Seiveril scowled at the deliberate insult the noblewoman delivered by refusing to address Amlaruil as queen, but Selsharra Durothil continued, “What is the throne’s response to this latest catastrophe?”
Amlaruil didn’t rise to Lady Durothil’s provocation. She folded her hands in her lap.
“I will carefully weigh the question of how much assistance can be sent without placing Evermeet in undue danger,” said the queen, “and I will then dispatch as much aid as I can. For today, it seems clear that we must learn all we can of the forces marching against the High Forest and Evereska.” She turned to High Marshal Blackhelm. “Keryth, go with Lord Imesfor back through the elfgate to Evereska, and take a company of the Queen’s Guard with you. I feel confident that we can spare that much, at least. Remain only as long as you must to survey the situation firsthand and return here to report.”
“Yes, my queen,” the general replied.
He rose and strode from the room, his helm tucked under one arm.
“Grand Mage Olithir,” he queen continued, “redouble your efforts to scry our foes. Organize the mages of the Towers to find the daemonfey armies and spy out their strength and movements. I want to know what we are up against.”
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